LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

ap JTiac Copyright No. 

Shell—ill?" '2 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



PASSION FLOWERS 



BY 



FATHER EDMUND OF THE HEART OF MARY, C.P. 

[benjamin D J HILL] 

Author of " A Short Cut to the True Church ; or, 
The Fact and the Word " 



NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 



PRINTERS TO THE HOLY APOSTOLIC SEE 




TWO COPIES RECEIVED 






2507 



Copyright, 1898, 
By BENZIGER BROTHERS. 



12- 3 Yfffo 



PREFACE 

Twenty years ago I published a small vol- 
ume of " Poems, Devotional and Occasional. " 
Friends to whom they are familiar have been 
joined by readers of the Ave Maria, as also by 
litterateurs of well-merited reputation, in urging 
me to bring out a fresh collection. 

After much delay (for my life is a busy one), 
I am complying with this request. The poems 
above mentioned will be found in the present 
collection, but many of them revised and im- 
proved : and some will appear in each of the 
three sections, or volumes, into which this new 
issue is divided. 

I am printing but one volume at a time. 
The first is entitled " Passion Flowers," as con- 
sisting of lyrics and sonnets either in honor of 
Our Divine Lord's Passion, or connected with 
it or referring to it : together with a narrative 
poem in two parts — " St. Hermenegild : a 
Passion Flower of Spain." 
5 



6 Preface 

The second volume will be called " Mariae 
Corolla" — that is, "A Wreath for Mary"; 
and will contain pieces either directly or indi- 
rectly in honor of Our Blessed Lady. My 
reason for choosing the Latin title will be given 
in an introduction to the book itself. 

The third volume will comprise " Poems of 
Affection and Friendship." Perhaps it will 
have a classic title, like its predecessor. Under 
the head of " Friendship " will be found " Let- 
ters to An Old Chum," and pieces of a humor- 
ous kind. 

I am well aware that the literary path I have 
chosen is not one that leads to popularity — in 
the wider sense of the term. It would, doubt- 
less, have been more " worldly wise " — and, 
certainly, very much easier — to fall into line 
with the revived Pagan morality and the worse 
than Pagan scepticism of the day. If " I wish," 
as Wordsworth said of himself, " to be consid- 
ered as a teacher, or as nothing," why not pose 
as an agnostic or a pantheist ? Why not dress 
up the " creed of despair " in a new and fasci- 
nating garb — as certain novelists have done ? 



Preface 7 

Because, by God's grace and undeserved mercy, 
I believe in Him ; and in the truths of Chris- 
tianity as revealed by Him ; and in the Catholic 
Apostolic Roman Church as the only historical 
and logical Christianity. I therefore humbly 
offer to this Church whatever I have been able 
to produce with the talent committed to my 
charge. I aspire to teach with lyre and lute, 
as well as from the pulpit or with pen of sol- 
emn prose. 

And having made poetry a study for thirty 
years, I ought to know the difference between 
mere religious verse and the beauties of our 
holy Faith set forth in poetic raiment. 

If I have a model at all, it is dear old Horace 
— faultless master of poetic form. There is 
neither affectation nor obscurity in him. Those 
were not considered charms in the age of classic 
lore. Accuracy and strength were the combi- 
nation that made golden Greek and golden 
Latin. To be sure, we find " bold construc- 
tions " in Sophocles and in Horace : a fact 
which makes these authors the best test of 
scholarship. But they never aimed at appear- 



8 Preface 

ance of depth by concealing, instead of express- 
ing, their thought. 

Again, I acknowledge, of course, the influence 
of Tennyson, who triumphantly established his 
right to introduce a new school of English 
poetry. He, like Horace, is a master of schol- 
arly diction ; and, in a word, the most perfect 
of English poets. He has been even called 
" faultless to a fault." Yet he does not escape 
occasional obscurity — the result of excessive 
subjectivism. Some of his imitators take this 
blemish for a beauty. I trust that I am not 
among them. 

Byron and Moore, the idols of my youth, are 
certainly far from being models of style, by 
reason of their inaccuracy — defect of scholarly 
diction : but the strength of the one and the 
simplicity of the other have never been sur- 
passed, if equalled ; and their influence abides 
with the mind that has loved and studied them. 
In the present volume, to some extent, but 
more in the second and third, their influence 
— particularly that of Byron — will be recog- 
nized, no doubt. And I am not at all ashamed 
of it. 



Preface 9 

I must add a few words about the sonnet — 
a form of composition to which I am very 
partial. 

When I began to write " quatorzains," I did 
not know that the sonnet of Petrarch set up for 
being the only correct one. I have adhered to 
that form in my " Sonnets on the Way of the 
Cross," which I deem my best work in the 
present volume ; but have not kept exclusively 
to it since, and do not mean to do so in the 
future. I believe the English language impor- 
tant enough to have a sonnet of its own. The 
Shakspearian form is duly recognized. But 
Wordsworth is incomparably the greatest com- 
poser of the sonnet that our literature can boast 
of; and he varies not only the " minor system," 
but often the " major " too, and in a way that 
suits the genius of the English language. So, 
too, with Keats, that young giant of song, 
whose sonnets are among our very finest. I am 
quite content, then, to err in such company — 
if error there be in my theory. 

In closing this long preface, I beg to ac- 
knowledge the kindness of the editors of the 



io Preface 

Ave Maria, the Catholic World, Donahoe's Mag- 
azine, the Messenger of the Sacred Heart, the 
Rosary Magazine, and the Poor Souls' Advocate, 
in allowing me to reprint poems contributed to 
their pages. The great majority of pieces now 
collected, and which were not collected in 1877, 
have appeared in the Ave Maria. Some, how- 
ever, are now published for the first time : 
notably, " St. Hermenegild." 

St. Mary's Retreat, Dunkirk, N.Y. 
Feast of St. Rose of Lima, 1897. 



CONTENTS 

Part I 
From 1866 to 1878 

PAGE 

LOVE'S PRISONER 1 7 

ST. MARY MAGDALEN OF PAZZI TO THE SACRED 

HEART l8 

OUR BETHLEHEM 20 

OUR EPIPHANY .21 

ST. JOSEPH'S MONTH 21 

THE PASSION 22 

THE FEAST OF THE CROWN OF THORNS . . 24 

TO THE FIVE WOUNDS 2$ 

THE STATIONS OF THE CROSS .... 26 

"THOU ART GONE UP ON HIGH" . . 3! 

HYMN 32 

ORDINATUS 34 

"SICUT MAGISTER EJUS" 35 

TO ST. MARY MAGDALEN 35 

FOR THE GIFT OF TEARS 36 

"JUXTA CRUCEM" 38 

II 



12 



Contents 



PAGE 

TRANSPLANTED 39 

A MEMORY 4° 

TO A LADY . 4 1 

TO THE SAME 43 

VEILED 44 

TO ST. MATTHIAS 45 

IN RETREAT 46 

TURN FOR TURN 48 



Part II 
From 1878 to 1897 

VOCATION 51 

NOVICE • 52 

PROFESSED 54 

THREE DAYS . . . ' . . . • 5 6 

SONNETS ON THE WAY OF THE CROSS . . 60 
TO ST. JOHN . . . . . • .8l 

EASTER 82 

"THE LAST HOUR" 86 

" RUNNING WATERS " &7 

MATER DOLOROSA 89 

SEPTEMBER 90 

AD MARIAM PRO MARIA . . . . • 9 2 

TO MONICA 93 



Contents 1 3 



PAGE 

TO MARGARET ....... 94 

SOUTHWARD . 97 

TO A WIDOWED MOTHER: ON THE DEATH OF 

HER ONLY DAUGHTER, AGED SEVEN . . 99 

TO A. W IOI 

WHY GOD LOVES US I04 

A BIRTHDAY GREETING. TO S. M. B. . . I06 
TO TERESA LUCY: ON HER BIRTHDAY . . 107 
TO LUCY TERESA : ON HER TWENTY-FIRST BIRTH- 
DAY I08 

SURSUM CORDA IIO 

TO MOTHER MARY XAVIER THERESA: ON HER 

GOLDEN JUBILEE 112 

TO ERIN . .114 

IN HONOR OF A GOLDEN WEDDING . . . 117 

HAUD FRUSTRA Il8 

A THOUGHT FOR OCTOBER . . . . 119 

A THOUGHT FOR NOVEMBER . . . . 120 

THE LAW OF LIBERTY 122 

GOD LOVED IN NATURE 1 29 

A THOUGHT FOR TRINITY SUNDAY . . . 1 30 

TO NATURE 131 

CHOICE IN NO CHOICE . 133 

SUGGESTED BY A CASCADE .... I34 

AN EARNEST ....... I36 



1 4 Contents 

SAINT HERMENEGILD 
A Passion Flower of Spain 

PAGE 

PART I 147 

PART II I7S 



PART I 

From 1866 to 1878 



LOVE'S PRISONER 

"DEPOSING in His altar-home — 

Imprison'd there for love of me — 
My Spouse awaits me ; and I come 

To visit Him awhile, and be 
A solace to His loneliness — 
If aught in me can make it less. 

But is He lonely ? Bend not here 
Adoring angels, as on high ? 

Ah, yes : but yet, when we appear, 
A softer glory floods His eye. 

'Tis earth's frail child He longs to see ; 

And thus He is alone — for me ! 

His Heart, how piningly it aches 
With love unheeded, love despised ! 

O happy soul, that comes and takes 
The gift as something to be prized : 

The lavish graces it receives 

From that full breast its prayer relieves ! 
17 



1 8 St. Mary Magdalen of Pa^i 

Then, best of lovers, I'll draw near 
Each day to minister relief. 

For tho' the thought of year on year 
Of sin should make me die of grief, 

Yet day by day my God I see 

" Sick and in prison " — all for me ! 

1866.1 



ST. MARY MAGDALEN OF PAZZI 

TO THE SACRED HEART 

< ' I say, my Jesus, Thou art mad with love ! I say so, and 
shall always say so." — St. Mary Magdalen of Pazzi. 

TTEART of hearts, a love is Thine 

Madly tender, blindly true ! 
Love in vastness so divine, 
In excess so human too ! 
Seems it more a burning grief — 
Pining, aching for relief. 

Seems Thou dost not, canst not live, 

Save to sue us for Thy rest : 
While the all that we can give 

1 The year of the author's conversion to the Faith. 



St. Mary Magdalen of Pa^i 19 

Is as nothing at the best. 
Wondrous Lover ! shall I say 
Thou hast thrown Thyself away ? 

Drench'd with anguish — steep'd in woe — 
Thou must needs, insatiate still, 

Linger patiently below, 

Prison'd to Thy creatures' will : 

While the current of the days 

Murmurs insult more than praise ! 

Here I find Thee, hour by hour, 

Waiting in Thy altar-home, 
Full of mercy, full of power — 

Mutely waiting till we come : 
Waiting for a soul to bless — - 
Some poor sinner to caress. 

Forth, then, from the fragrant hush, 
Where I almost hear Thee beat, 

Bid a benediction gush — 

O'er me, thro' me, thrilling sweet ! 

Heart of Jesus, full of me, 

Fill mine — till it break with Thee ! 



Our Bethlehem 



OUR BETHLEHEM 

T3ETHLEHEM, House of Bread, 1 

Of the Bread that came down from heaven. 2 
" For the life of the world 'tis given : 

Eat of it," Jesus said. 

" Father," He bade us pray, 
" Give us this heavenly bread " 
(" Ours " we must call it, He said) : 

" Give us it day by day." 

Knelt in the midnight cave 

The shepherds and sages three, 

Theirs (do we envy ? ) to see 
The Bread which the Father gave. 3 

We in the Faith's broad day 

Kneeling — nor once, but at will — 
Take of that Bread our fill, 

None " sent empty away." 

How should we envy them ? 

Yet as the grace, the shame, 

If but in boast we claim 
The goodlier Bethlehem. 

1 The literal signification of Bethlehem. 

2 St. John vi. 33, 51, 52. 3 Ibid. v. 3a. 



St. Joseph's Month 21 

OUR EPIPHANY 

"\ X 7"HAT tho' we cannot, with the star-led 

kings, 

Adore the swaddled Babe of Bethlehem, 
Behold how sweetly Benediction brings 

A new Epiphany denied to them. 
The Mary Mystical 'tis ours to see 

Still from His crib the little Jesus take, 
And show Him to us on her altar-knee, 

And sing to Him to bless us for her sake. 
Shall we the while be kneeling giftless there? 

In loving faith a richer gold shall please ; 
A costlier incense in the humblest prayer; 

Nor less the myrrh of penitence than these. 
And there between us holy priesthood stands, 
Our own St. Joseph, with anointed hands. 



S 



ST. JOSEPH'S MONTH 

AINT of the Childhood and the Hidden 

Life, 
Why is it that thy month is always Lent ? 



22 The Passion 

What hadst thou with the Passion ? Mary- 
went 
To Calvary with Jesus ; but the knife 
Of that fierce sorrow was spared thee. Thy 
strife 
In anxious care and fostering patience spent: 
Now to a stable, now to Egypt sent, 
And then long years with humblest labor rife. 
But this thy portion of the coming Cross — 
Which o'er thy path its forward shadow threw. 
And is not ours like thine — to walk content 
In that long shadow, counting all things loss 
Save what for Jesus we endure or do ? — 
To teach us this thy month is always Lent. 



THE PASSION 

"\ "\ 7" AS ever tale of love like this ? 

The wooing of the Spouse of Blood 
Who came to wed us to His bliss 
In those eternal years with God. 

Those griefless years, those wantless years, 
He left them — -counting loss for gain — 



The Passion 23 

To taste the luxury of tears, 
And revel in the wine of pain! 

'Twas sin had ruixt the cup of woe 

From Adam pass'd to every lip : 
And none could shirk its brimming flow — 

For some a draught, for all a sip : 

When Jesus came, athirst to save; 

Nor sucked content a sinless breast; 
But grasped the fatal cup, and gave 

That Mother half, then drained the rest. 

Enough the milk without the wine. 

When first the new-born Infant smiled, 
'Twas merit infinite, divine, 

To cleanse a thousand worlds defiled. 

But we must take of both. And how 
Could love look on, nor rush to share ? 

Or hear us moan : " Death's darkness now : 
And Thou, at least, wast never there " ? 

And so He drank our Marah dry : 

Then filled the cup with wine of heaven. 



24 The Feast of the Crown of Thorns 

Who would not live — with Him to die ? 
Or not have sinned 1 — when so forgiven ? 

Lent, 1872. 



THE FEAST OF THE CROWN OF 
THORNS 

A/fY Thorn-crown'd King, Thy diadem 

Outshines the bard's, the hero's, wreath. 
The tangled gold, the ruby gem, 
How fair they glitter underneath ! 

And ah, those gems ! They flow — they fall ! 

The dust receives them ! Shall they lie 
Unheeded there ? O no ! They call 

Adoring legions from the sky. 

Yet not for Angels do they flow : 

For sinful men. " And one is mine, 

Dear Lord — my very own ? " . . . But lo ! 
His eyes reproach me : " All are thine." 

1 This, of course, is in the sense of the Church's "O felix 
culpa ! O certe necessarium peccatum ! ' ' 



To the Five Wounds 25 



TO THE FIVE WOUNDS 

r^\EAR Wounds, it is not mine to see you bleed 
As Magdalen saw you. Where He reigns 
above 
You shine in glory. Yet, in very deed, 
Remain, as then, five rosy mouths — to plead 
With Him for mercy, and with me for love. 

" Behold upon My Hands I have graven thee ! " 1 
Indelibly, my King. How sweet the thought ! 
Thou canst not look on these but reading me : 
Thy Father there, Thy Mother too, must see 
What less my sins than Thy dear love have 
wrought. 

Yea, Lord, and on Thy Feet — those blessed Feet 
Where Magdalen's pure tears and kisses fell. 
Ah, could mine own that homage now repeat 
Of wordless thankfulness — if such were meet 
For sinner rescued from a lower hell ! 

And on Thy Side, my Jesus — ay, Thy Heart ! 
And deepest there. Right to the centre went 

1 Is. xlix. 16. 



26 The Stations of the Cross 

The soldier's spear : to show, with cunning art, 
How Thy love giveth not itself in part, 

But all, my God ! — with naught but all con- 
tent. 

Sweet Wounds, then, home me ! Hide me 
evermore 

From sin and self! I ask to live and die 
Hidden in you ; for there is all my store 
Of wisdom as of merit. Other lore 

Than that you teach shall pass unheeded by. 



THE STATIONS OF THE CROSS 

i 
,r ~PIS thou, my cruel heart, but thou 

Hast wrought the doom thou weepest now. 
'Tis thou hast shouted, " Let Him die ! " — 
Thy every sin a " Crucify ! " 
" I die," He murmurs, " die for thee : 
Then sin no more : live true for Me." 

ii 
Why choose a death of fierce delay 
To agonize Thy life away ? 



The Stations of the Cross 27 

And why do Thy embraces greet 
The cross as if Thou deem'st it sweet ? 
Thou dost ! A sateless love, we know, 
Must ever glut itself on woe. 

in 
Thou fallest — all too weak ! The might 
That bears creation's infinite 
As tho' its myriad worlds were none, 
Has sunk beneath the sins of one ! 
Ye ruthless stones, thou heedless sod, 
How can ye wound your prostrate God ? 

IV 

They raise Him up, and goad Him on ; 
When lo, the Mother meets the Son ! 
How heart rends heart, as eye to eye 
Darts the mute anguish of reply ! 
Sweet Lady, traitor tho' I be, 
Yet let me follow Him with thee ! 



The soldiers fear to see Him die 
Too soon for cross and Calvary ; 
And the Cyrenian, captive made, 
Reluctant lends his timely aid. 



28 The Stations of the Cross 

happy Simon, didst thou know ! 
Give me the load thou scornest so ! 

VI 

Who calls that face unlovely now, 

For furrowed cheek and thorn-pierced brow? 

To me it never seemed so fair ; 

For when was love so written there? 

Kind Veronica, get me grace 

To keep, like thee, that pictured face ! l 

VII 

Again He falls ! again they deal 

Their ruffian blows — those hearts of steel ! 

He hails His Mother; and the throng 

Slink back, to let her pass along. 

She kneels to soothe Him and caress, 

And rage grows dumb at Her distress. 

VIII 

The tender women mourn His fate, 
With Mary's grief compassionate. 
How blest such mourners, He has said : 
They shall indeed be comforted. 

1 Our Lord left the impression of His face on St. Veronica's 
cloth. This relic of the Passion is still preserved in Rome. 



The Stations of the Cross 29 

And He, in turn, has tears for them — 
Daughters of lost Jerusalem. 

IX 

And yet another fall ! Ah, why ? 

'Tis my repeated perfidy. 

O Jesus, I but live in vain 

If only to be false again ! 

O Mary, grant me, I implore, 

To die this hour, or sin no more ! 

x 

The Way, the lingering Way, is past, 
And Calvary's top is gained at last. 
With gall the soldiers mock His thirst, 
Then strip Him, in their glee accurst. 
Descend, ye Angels ! round Him flame, 
And with your pinions veil His shame ! 

XI 

Ah see, they stretch Him on the wood : 
The blunt nails spurt the Precious Blood ! 
Nor His alone their every sting ; 
For Mary hears the hammers ring. 
Lord, let that sound my music be 
When the death-hour shall strike for me ! 



30 The Stations of the Cross 

XII 

A horror wraps the earth and sky 
While three long times go darkly by. 
And now, " 'Tis finished ! " Jesus cries 
And awfully the God-Man dies. 
My heart, canst thou survive content ? 
Behold, the very rocks are rent ! 

XIII 

Desolate Mother, clasping there 
Thy lifeless Son, yet hear my prayer ! 
Tho' never was a grief like thine, 
And never was a guilt like mine, 
Still should I not be dear to thee 
When He thou lovest died for me ? 

XIV 

His lovers lay Him in the tomb, 
And leave Him to its peaceful gloom. 
Thou sleepest, Lord, Thy labor done ; 
For me — for all — redemption won : 
And I, in turn, as dead would be, 
And buried to all else but Thee. 

Lent, 1870. 



" Thou art gone up on High " 3 1 



"THOU ART GONE UP ON HIGH"* 

"£^ONE UP ! " But whither ? To a star ? 

Some orb that seems a point of light, 
Or one too infinitely far 

For our fond gaze beneath the night ? 

Some fairer world, to which our own, 

With all its vastness, is a grain ? 
Is't there the God-Man sets his throne — 

Fit centre of a boundless reign ? 

Let science coldly sweep away 

A fancied Eden here and there 
From out the starry space, and say 

'Tis all brute matter — crude and bare : 

Or stern philosophy demand 

" May not yon myriad orbs we ken 

Be but a pinch of golden sand 

To stretch the narrow minds of men ? " — 

Yet faith makes answer, meekly bold: 
" Narrow to me your widest lore — 

Without the blessed truth I hold 
That God is Man for evermore. 

1 " Ascendisti in altum." — Ps. lxvii. 



3 2 Hymn 

" He came to wed our life to His : 

As Man was born, and died, and rose: 

And in His victor Flesh it is 
Our hopes of Paradise repose. 

" He wore it thro' the sweet delay 

That kept Him with His dear ones yet ; 

Nor put it from Him on the day 
He pass'd from topmost Olivet. 

u Then still He wears it in the skies — 
Matter in space. And when the cloud 

Receiv'd Him from the gazers' eyes — 
Before their brimming hearts allowed 

" That they had lost Him — swift as thought, 
He reach'd the bright elysian home 

His own primeval word had wrought, 
New Eden for the race to come." 



HYMN 1 

IVTOT ours to ask Thee " What is truth ? " 
For here it shines the light of light : 

1 Written to be sung at the meetings of a " Christian Doctrine 
Society" under the patronage of St. Paul. 



Hymn 33 

And all may see it, age or youth, 

Who will but leave the outer night. 
'Tis ours to tread, not seek the way 
That brightens to the perfect day. 1 

But this we ask Thee, dearest Lord : 
Let faith, so precious, feed and grow; 

And make our lives the more accord 

With fear and love, the more we know : 

For thus, too, shall we point the way 

That brightens to the perfect day. 

Nor have we learnt it save to teach : 

It is for others we are wise : 
The humblest has a charge to preach 

Thy kingdom in a nation's eyes : 
A nation groping for the way 
That brightens to the perfect day. 

O thou, our Patron, great St. Paul, 

Apostle of the West ! to thee 
We boldly come, and fondly call, 

As children at a father's knee : 
Come thou, and with us lead the way 
That brightens to the perfect day ! 

1 Prov. iv. 18. 



34 Ordinatus 



ORDINATUS 

'"THE priest, " another Christ " 1 is he, 

And plights the Church his marriage vows : 
Thenceforth in every soul to see 
A daughter, sister, spouse. 

Then let him wear the triple cord 

Of father's, brother's, husband's care : 

In this partaking with His Lord 
What Angels cannot share. 

O sweet new love ! O strong new wine ! 

O taste of Pentecostal fire ! 
Inebriate me, draught divine, 

With Calvary's desire ! 

" I thirst ! " He cried. The dregs were drained 
But still " I thirst ! " His dying cry. 

While one ungarner'd soul remained, 
The cup too soon was dry. 



>t-« oil to Hnne* 



Yet what if / be crucified 

And scoffing fiends, when all is done, 
Make darkness round me, and deride 

That not a soul is won ? 

1 " Sacerdos alter Christus." — St. Bernard. 



To St. Magdalen 35 



God reaps from very loss a gain ; 

And darkness here is light above. 
Nor ever did and died in vain 

Who did and died for love. 

1871. 



"SICUT MAGISTER EJUS" 1 

HPHE Priest must bear the Master's cross 

Of all men most, and take his part 
In hours of failure and of loss 

Like those which wrung the Sacred Heart. 

Yet, doubly sure, are others given, 
Of such sweet comfort, it is worth 

The rest to know them: as, in heaven, 
A moment compensates for earth. 



TO ST. MARY MAGDALEN 

' 1VTID the white spouses of the Sacred Heart, 
After its Queen, the nearest, dearest 
thou : 

1 "It is enough for the disciple that he be as his Master." — 
St. Matt. x. 25. 



36 For the Gift of Tears 

Yet the aureola around thy brow 
Is not the virgins' — thine a throne apart. 
Nor yet, my Saint, does faith-illumined art 
Thy hand with palm of martyrdom endow : 
And when thy hair is all it will allow 
Of glory to thy head, we do not start. 
O more than virgin in thy penitent love ! 

And more than martyr in thy passionate woe ! 
Who knelt not with thee on the gory sod, 
How should they now sit throned with thee 
above ? 
Or where the crown our worship could be- 
stow 
Like that long gold which wiped the feet 
of God ? 
1872. * 

FOR THE GIFT OF TEARS 

TV /TY Magdalen, my own dear Saint, 
Could I but weep my past away 
Like thee at Jesus' feet, the day 

He cleansed thy bosom of its taint ! 

It is not, Sister, that I doubt 

Forgiveness. He is all too sweet. 



For the Gift of Tears 37 

Had I too bathed and kissed His feet, 
And heard Him say 'twas blotted out, 

I scarce were more assur'd than now : 
For grace on grace has bid me cease 
From Tearfulness, and "go in peace," 

With youth renewed in heart and brow. 

Yet, by that fire of deathless love, 

Which, kindled at His glance and word, 
Consumed thee for thy Saviour Lord, 

As burn the Seraphim above: 

By all His tenderness, and those 
Divinely-human looks and ways : 
The thrilling sweetness of His praise, 

The joy of mutual repose : 

By all the darkness and the scorn 

Of those three hours beneath His cross : 
By all thy share in Mary's loss, 

And, happier, in her Easter morn : 

Get me the precious gift of tears, 

To flow perennial as thine ! 

Thy prayer, dear Saint, shall make them mine, 
And wreathe with gems my rescued years. 



38 " Juxta Crucem" 

"JUXTA CRUCEM" 

« T\E AR Lord," we say, " could we have stood 
With Thy sweet Mother and St. John 
Beside Thy Cross ; or knelt and clung 
(Heedless what ruffian eyes look'd on) 
With Magdalen's wild grief, and flung 
Our arms about th' ensanguined wood ! " . . . 

But have we not the Crucified 
Among us, " even at the door " ? 

Whom else behold we day by day 
In the sore-burden'd, patient poor ? 

And where disease makes want its prey, 
Can we not stand that cross beside ? 

O blest vocation, theirs who come, 
At chosen duty's high behest, 

To soothe the squalid couch of pain 
With pledges of a better rest 

Than all earth's wealth can give or gain, 
And whispers of eternal home ! 

Never so near Our Lord as then, 

We touch His wounds — more heaPd than 
healing : 



Transplanted 39 

Never so close to Mary's Heart, 
Hear too for us its throbs appealing : 
And when for other scenes we part, 
It is with John and Magdalen. 



TRANSPLANTED 

"\ \ THO says she has wither'd, that little white 
VV rose? 
She has been but removed from the valley of 
tears 
To a garden afar, where her loveliness glows 
Begemm'd with the grace-dew of virginal 
years. 

I knew we should lose her. The dear Sacred 
Heart 
Has a nook in earth's valley for flowerets so 
rare ; 
And keeps them awhile in safe shelter, apart 
From the wind and the rain, from the dust 
and the glare ; 

But all to transplant them when fairest they 
bloom, 



4© A Memory 

When most we shall miss them. And this, 

that our love 
May be haunted the more by the fadeless perfume 
They have left us to breathe of the Eden 

above. 

Farewell, happy maiden ! Our weariest hours 
May gather a share of thy perfect repose. 

And fragrantly still with the Lord of the flowers 
Thou wilt plead for thy lov'd ones — our 
little St. Rose ! 



A MEMORY 

T LITTLE took her for a wife. 

She seem'd to stand, with maiden grace, 
Half eager, half averse, to face 

The stern realities of life. 

But when her tale of bitter wrong 

Had pierced me (tho' her words were few), 

I read her as myself, and knew 
How old the heart with such a song. 



To a Lady 41 

And yet not quench'd its vital youth, 
Or blighted with a hopeless doom. 
" A flower," I said, " reserv'd to bloom 

In sunshine of the future truth. 

" She droops, nigh broken, in the night — 
So burden'd with the rain of woe : 
But each big drop gives purer glow, 

And gems her for the dawning light." 



TO A LADY 

ON THE DEATH OF HER SISTER 

T_JER death is as of one I knew. 
Nor only that a friend's distress 
Is mine. Your sister, could I less 

Than picture her another you ? 

She led, you say, an angel's life 
Ere ever the dividing vows 
Had wed her to the Virgins' Spouse 

And seal'd her for the higher strife. 

A chosen soul, then, from her birth ; 
Predestined to the perfect flower: 



42 To a Lady 

First gather' d for the convent-bower, 
Now for a garden not of earth. 

You know it, lady; and the sense 
Forbids the natural tear to flow, 
Unless a joy be with its woe 

To give it thankful eloquence. 

Nor have you lost her. Veil'd before, 
And cloister' d in a distant home, 
She now is free again to come 

And linger near you evermore : 

And shield you in a thousand ways, 

And guide your path, and plead your cause 
For so the beatific laws 

Of heaven work their Maker's praise. 

And this I wish you, dearest friend : 
To catch her mantle with its fold 
Of fragrance and its clasp of gold, 

And wear it to as sweet an end. 
1869. 



To the Same 43 

TO THE SAME 

1V/TY wish is granted. You have caught 
Your sister's mantle, as I prayed : 
Nor any friend is happier made 
Than he who weaves this tribute thought. 

This Mary takes " the better part " ; 
And walks secure in her retreat, 
Where softly falls about her feet 

The shadow of the Sacred Heart : 

A shadow and a sunshine too — 
A light, a fragrance, and a rest: 
A peace like that which keeps the blest, 

And "inly kisses thro' and thro'." 

Ah, joy ! The Heart that loves her best 
Is hers — forever hers. The Spouse 
She chooses for her maiden vows 

The truest is and worthiest. 

And since her hand in thine was given, 
Sweet Mother, whisper to thy Son 
To set the jewel He has won 

Luminous in His crown in heaven. 

1870. 



44 Veiled 

VEILED i 

"Dilectus meus mihi, et ego Illi." — Cant. ii. 16. 

TVTO bridegroom mine of change and death: 

My orange-flowers shall never fade. 
Immortal dews will gem the wreath 

When crowns of earth have all decayed. 

No bride am I that plights her troth 

With touch of doubt, or trust too fond ; 

And risks the present, wisely loath 
To search too far the veil'd beyond. 

To me 'tis but the past is veiled — 

The world that mocks with joys that fleet ; 

The " Egypt " that so long has failed 

To make its " troubled waters " 2 sweet : 

The world with all its sins and cares, 
Its sorrows gained and graces lost ; 

The garden of a thousand snares, 
The barren field of blight and frost. 

But shines the future clear as truth : — 
A few swift years of prayer and peace, 

1 Written, at the same lady's request, for the occasion of her 
taking the veil. 2 Jer. ii. 18. 



To St, Matthias 45 

Where hearts may know perennial youth, 
And virtues evermore increase : 

And then my Lord, my only love, 

Shall come, and lift the veil, and say: 

" Arise, all fair, my spouse, my dove ! 
The rain is over — haste away ! 

"The rain is o'er, the winter gone, 1 
That sun and summer seem'd to thee. 

If sweet the toilsome journey done, 
How sweeter now thy rest shall be ! " 

April, 1 87 1. 

♦ 

TO ST. MATTHIAS 

TYEAR Saint, thy feast reminds me that to-day, 
Nine years ago, I knelt to Mother Rome, 
To be taken to her bosom — the true home 

Found late, yet timely (nor in vain, I pray). 

Chosen, perchance (if 'tis not rash to say — 
If ever undeserv'd such graces come) — 
Chosen, like thee, to fill the place of some 

1 Cant. ii. 10, 1 1. 



46 In Retreat 

Ingrate who had thrown his childhood's faith 

away : 
Nay, called to share the Apostolic gift 

Of priesthood with thyself: I boldly claim 
Thee patron. Deign be with me when I lift 
My hands to bless, my voice to guide or 
blame : 
Nor let the old enemy, who thought to sift 1 
The Twelve as wheat, bring me to Judas' 

shame. 
1875. 



IN RETREAT 

" "DREAK, my heart, and let me die ! 

Burst with sorrow, drown with love ! 
Lord, if Thou the boon deny, 
Thou wilt not the wish reprove. 

Whence that burning, piercing ray, 
Seem'd to reach me from the light 

Where behind the veil 'tis day — 
Where the Blessed walk in sight ? 

1 St. Luke xxii. 31. 



In Retreat 47 

Thine, 'twas Thine, O Sacred Heart ! 

Mercy-sent, that I might see 
Something of the all Thou art, 

Something of the naught in me. 

Ah, I saw Thy patient love 

Watching o'er me year on year; 

Guarding, guiding, move for move — 
Always faithful, always near ! 

Saw this self — how weak, how base ! — 

Still go sinning, blundering on : 
Thankless with its waste of grace, 

Wearied with the little done. 

Then I murmur'd : " O my King, 

What are all my acts of will ? 
Each best effort can but bring 

Failure and confusion still ! 

"This poor heart, which ought to burn, 
Smoulders feebly; yet may dare 

Offer Thine one last return — 
One fond, fierce, atoning prayer ? 

" Let it break this very hour — - 

Burst with sorrow, drown with love ! 

For if Thou withhold Thy power, 
Thou wilt not the wish reprove." 



• • 



48 Turn for Turn 

Past that moment : but, as fall 
Mothers' whispers, answer' d He : 

"Daily die 1 — with thy St. Paul: 
Die to self, and live to Me." 

Lake George, September, 1877. 



TURN FOR TURN 

JESUS, my King, I have crucified Thee : 
Now it is Thy turn to crucify me. 
Make Thou the cross — be it only like Thine: 
Mix Thou the gall — so Thy love be the wine. 

Shrink not to strip me — of all but Thy grace. 
Stretch me out well, till I fit in Thy place. 
Here are my hands (felon hands !) and my feet : 
Drive home the nails, Lord : the pain shall be 
sweet. 

Raise me, and take me not down till I die. 
Only let Mary, my Mother, stand by. 
Last, let the spear while I live do its part : — 
Right thro' the heart, my King — right thro' the 
heart ! 

September, 1878. 

1 1 Cor. xv. 31. 



PART II 

From 1878 to 1897 



VOCATION 

FEAST OF THE ASSUMPTION 
1878 

I 

HPHRICE sacred feast, thrice dear for ever- 
more ! 

The day my Queen ascended to her throne 
(Those long, long years of weary waiting o'er), 

To reign for us — our Mother still, our own : 
The day my sister stood beside the Font, 

In her eleventh summer, to be born 
Of water and the Spirit (she is wont 

To keep it as her truer natal morn) : 
And now the day when, robed in bridal white, 

She plighted troth to Him she would espouse. 
And happy I was there to hear her plight 

That trustful earnest of the lifelong vows. 
Ay, and to win, thro' her fond prayer, a grace 
Should draw me with her in the upward race. 

11 
Thro' her fond prayer. For, passing where she 
stood, 

5i 



52 Novice 

In veil and wreath, waiting the bishop's Mass 
(So pure she look'd, I scarcely dared intrude 

Upon her thought, yet could not help but 
pass), 
I heard my name. " Dear brother, if so true 

That graces ask'd at our prostration prayer 1 
Are surely granted, tell me what for you ? " 

And I : " That our sweet Lady may declare 
Her will for me." For I had needed long 

Such token. And behold, the answer came — 
Came with the morrow ! But a touch, yet strong 

To kindle in my soul a new-born flame — 
Like that which burst in sacrificial blaze 
From the thick water at the sun's first rays. 2 



NOVICE 

(~\ BLESSED Crucifix, you teach me this : 

How Jesus' dying love is best repaid. 
You bid me daily come and kneel to kiss 
Each Wound my sins have made. 

1 The postulant for vestition (i.e. each candidate for the habit 
of religion) prostrates while a solemn litany is said. And this is 
believed to be a particularly "acceptable time." 

2 2 Mach. i. 19-22. 



Novice 53 

That so my heart may cherish deep within 
A tender memory full of gracious power — 

To keep me true, and shame me off from sin, 
And guide me hour by hour. 

How shall I dare to kiss those pierced Feet, 
And wander still, or choose again to stray ? 

How deem, with fools, perdition's path so 
sweet — 
The broad, smooth, hellward way ? 

Or how, in sensual sloth or base disgust, 

Turn from that other, which the worldling 
scorns ? 

Nor bless its very narrowness, and trust 
The hedge of saving thorns ? 

And those dear Hands — almighty, yet, for me, 
Nail'd helpless there ! Shall ever guilty deed 

Tempt mine again, and I, consenting, see 
The red gash freshly bleed ? 

Those Hands so full of merit and of grace, 
Shall mine not haste to gather while they may, 

The treasure which will bid me take my place 
Upon His right that day ? 



54 Professed 

And last, the dearest Wound of all, which laid 
The still'd Heart open to the core, to show 

That it had burst with very love and paid 
Its uttermost of woe ! 

Shall I, then, coldly view that open Side, 

Nor take the sheltering home it fain would 
give — 

Like the ark's door of mercy, standing wide, 
That all may pass and live ? 

Love calls for love. Ah, where is mine, if He, 
This Prince of lovers, woo me with such pain 

To live for Him as He has died for me — 
And sue me but in vain ? 

1879. 



PROFESSED 

r\ CRUCIFIX, the book of books thy name? 
Thou tellest of a King who left His 
throne 
To seek a death of agony and shame 

For love of me — to win me for His own. 



Professed 55 

His love, the thorns have writ it on His Brow, 
The scourges on His Body — ah, how plain ! 

Yet seems it I am only learning now 

To read a story conn'd and conn'd again. 

A silent wooer, He : His master-art 

A ruddy mouth in Foot or Side or Hand : 

Five eloquent Wounds, which utter from His 
Heart 
A voice all hearts were made to understand. 

But now from out these Wound-Mouths seems 
to well 
A strange new music, thrilling through and 
through : 
As if my soul had never caught the spell 
Of half they say, tho' owning all for true. 

Then is it that divinest charm of love — 

That freshness, evermore like morning new — 

Which waits to crown our brimming cup above, 
Yet drops us here some foretaste of its dew ? 

Or what the cause of this new meaning found 
In tale so old ? Ah yes, it is, in part, 



$6 Three Days 

That nameless charm : but more, that I am 
bound 
In closer ties to each dear Sacred Heart. 

" Christo confixus cruci " x — nail for nail : 
By three strong vows death-wedded to my 
Lord. 

And by the fourth 2 — of faithful tender wail — 
Transfixus? too, with Mary's very sword. 

Sacred Heart Retreat, 
Louisville, Ky., 
September, 1880. 



THREE DAYS 

1 

ENTRANCE 

'"PHY faith, St. Helena, be mine to-day ! 

Like thee I come to seek and find the 
Cross : 

1 Gal. ii. 19. "I am fastened with Christ to the Cross." 

2 The Passionists take a Fourth Vow — of promoting devotion 
to the Passion. 

3 " Transpierced." Our Lady's Dolors at the foot of the Cross 
are called by the Church her " Transfixion." 



Three Days 57 

For me the true one, as I dare believe. 
Small care was thine what prudent folk might 
say 
Of toil and treasure spent on likely loss, 
All for a dream — not sent thee to deceive. 

Such dream be mine. A greater Queen than 
thou — 
The Empress-Mother of the Lord of all — 
Bids even me ascend the Mount of Myrrh, 
The Hill of Incense, 1 to the very brow ! 
Ah, could she let me heed a fancied call, 
When well she knows I climb for love of 
her? 

May 3, 1879. 

II 

VESTITION 

" The dream holds true," I murmur'd, quite at 
rest, 
Kneeling a postulant at Vesper choir 
Before our Lady's altar, to be clad, 
As our Saint Paul was, in the sable vest 

1 "I will go unto the mountain of myrrh and to the hill of 
incense." — First antiphon at Lauds, Office of Seven Dolors. 



58 Three Days 

Which she wore first, 1 and he at her desire — 
Himself a dreamer the wise world calls 
mad. 

It was the farewell even-song of May — 
Feast of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart : 
Her choice I knew — too precious to be 
lost. 
Ay, and, of course — for me — a Saturday 
(That day of mercies on my life's strange 
chart) ; 
And Vigil of divinest Pentecost. 

And first they clothed me with the garb which 
mourns 
So faithfully our Saviour's rueful death : 
Then on my shoulder the symbolic cross, 
And on my head they placed the crown of 
thorns : 
Bidding me take one long prayer-wafting 
breath, 
Then up the steep, to win by happy loss. 

May 31, 1879. 

1 Our Lady appeared to him wearing the habit. 



Three Days 59 

in 

PROFESSION 

" The dream holds true," I murmur'd, full of 
peace, 1 

As prostrate at the altar's foot I lay, 

While one in stole funereal o'er me read 
The Passion from Saint John. How sweetly 
cease 
All fears in those who seek but to obey, 
And, deaf to self, ask only to be led ! 

Then, kneeling with my hands in his who gave 
The habit, I pronounced the holy vows 
Which wed me to Religion — and to this 
Stern family, that ever, blithely brave, 

Sings to the Church the wooing of her 
Spouse : 
Recounts the Sweat of Blood, the Traitor's 
Kiss, 

The clotted Scourges, the thorn-woven Crown, 
The carried Cross, and all the dolorous 
Way: 
The following Mother, too, with sinless 
Heart 



6o Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 

Sword-riven ; the three dark hours ; the taking 
down ; 
The Tomb ; and desolation's woe, that lay 
Heaviest of all — for He no more had part. 

And I have pledged me to join chorus well, 
Hymning this sweeter tale of truer love 
Than ever poet feign'd. O Mother mine, 
Thy bosom be my school ! There let me 
dwell, 
To catch the mystic moanings of the dove — 1 
Faint-echoed in all other souls from thine. 

June I, 1880. 



SONNETS ON THE WAY OF THE 
CROSS 



T 



1 
IS I have sinn'd, and Thou art doom'd to die : 
Thy death my life ! . . . What answer 
shall I make? 



1 A principal reason why the Church is called a "dove" in the 
Canticles is because of her sympathy with the Passion of her Spouse. 
Our Lady, then, as the type of the Church, is also the "dove," by 
reason of her Com- Passion, her Dolors. 



Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 61 

But this : that what Thou givest I will take — 
Take and go free ? . . . What life, then, Lord, 

have I 
Apart from Thine ? What easeful liberty, 

Thou standing here a captive for my sake ? 

If erst I dreamt of such, now, wide awake, 
I find my only freedom not to fly. 

My King, let me die with Thee — die to all 
I lived for once without Thee. Let me taste 
Thy chalice with Saint John, Thy Passion 
share 
With Magdalen. For Thou hast deigned to call 
My fickle soul to gird her loins in haste 
And march with those who boldly, sternly 
dare ! 

II 

The Cross ! . . . A slave's death for the King 
of kings ! . . . 
Ay, but that King has made Himself a slave : 1 
Thy slave, my soul — whom He has stoopt to 
save 
From feller servitude than clanks and clings 

1 Phil. ii. 7. "Slave" is the accurate rendering of the word 
in both the Greek text and the Latin. 



62 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 

In convict chains, or tyrannously wrings 
The exile's heart by some Siberian grave : 
A bondage where the joys thou needs must 
crave 

Had been as far from hope as angel wings ! 

Slave of thy love, He takes the Cross : and see 
How tenderly He clasps it — like a spouse ! 
Then wilt not thou, in turn, accept, embrace, 
Here at His side, the cross He wills for thee ? 
No grievous yoke, but one His love allows — 
Proof of forgiving, pledge of crowning, 
grace ! 

in 
So weak, my King ! Almighty, yet so weak ! 
Then is it that our sins so heavily lay 
On One Who might have smiled them all 
away 
And left His justice not a claim to wreak ? 
Nor rather that, by this surpassing freak 
Of charity, Thy tender Heart would stay 
Our fainting souls and tottering steps, and say 
(As Thy Apostle learnt of Thee to speak) : 

" Is any weak, I not ? Shall any take 

Their cross to follow Me, and fall at the start, 



Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 63 

Nor be in this like Me ? . . . Then, fear 
not blame. 
Be but content to suffer for My sake 

Each seeming failure — till thou win thy part 
In that rich glory which has crown'd My 
shame, 

IV 

His Mother comes to meet Him. O my Queen, 
Will any say thou comest late ? Not I. 
Since thou didst give Him up to go and die, 

All hast thou witnessed, tho' thyself unseen. 

Thy Heart has answer' d His with pangs as keen 
For every sting of scourge and thorn and lie, 
The " Ecce Homo ! " and the rabble's cry, 

And Pilate washing hands he could not clean. 

But now thy Jesus His triumphal way 

Begins, 'tis thine to meet Him with His load, 
And share it soul to soul, O brave and true ! 
And shall not «/*, in turn, who day by day 
Follow cross-laden, find upon the road, 
As surely waiting, our sweet Mother too ? 

v 
Right scornfully the forced Cyrenian lends 
The timely help we envy as we gaze : 



64 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 

But Jesus blesses him, and Mary prays ; 
And soon his will, no less than body, bends. 
Oh, how his heart now glows, as he befriends 

That beauteous Pair the sudden light arrays ! 

And on he plods, lost in a sweet amaze ; 
Till — all too short for him — the long march 
ends. 

My soul, behold thy perfect model here ! 

The cross thou needs must carry, wouldst 
thou live : 
But see, 'tis sharing in a task divine ! 
Thy Saviour goes before thee ; but so near, 
He asks the very aid Himself must give ! 
'Tis His Cross thou art bearing — and He 
thine ! 

VI 

That Face ! Ah, who would know it for 
divine — 
The thorn-pierced brow, the furrow'd cheek, 

the eyes 
Blood-blinded ? 

Only hearts that faith makes wise. 
And such, dear Saint Veronica, was thine : 
Illumed to see the hidden Godhead shine, 



Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 65 

And thus the tender ministry devise 
Which earn'd so well the picture's sweet sur- 
prise — 
A treasure for the nascent Church to shrine. 

Let me too, sister, keep that Face so fair. 

Pray it may haunt me with its pleading woe ! 
For when was love so eloquently writ ? 
But in my soul, my life — reflected there, 
In my fulfill'd vocation — let it show ; 
Abiding bright while earthly shadows flit ! 

VII 

A second fall, and heavier ! Pitiless sod, 
How canst thou wound thy Maker ? 

Harder still 
The hearts that love Him not, but set their 
will 
Averse, and sullenly spurn their Saviour-God ! 
Worse than those ruffian hands, with lash and 
rod, 
That strike His prostrate form — and send a 

thrill, 
Perchance, into some bosom, thence to fill 
With timely sorrow for a path long trod. 



66 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 

Ah, was it not, dear Lord, beholding these — 
The many who would turn their gaze away 
From Thee and Thy sweet Mother in your 
woe — 
That sank Thee to the earth ? 

And from Thy knees 

Thou beggest us to toil with Thee, and pray, 

And suffer on — tho' all the world should go. 

VIII 

Not all are hounding Him to death — of those 
Who seem the rabble. Some, of womankind, 
True to their gentler nature, call to mind 

His life of gracious wonders 'mid His foes ; 

And follow but to weep its thankless close 
To these He turns, as comforted to find 
Such mourners with His Mother, tho' so blind 

Their sorrow to their own, their children's, woes. 

Yea, " blessed they who mourn," as He hath 
said : 
Most blessed when their tears with Mary's 
flow 
For Jesus' bitter Passion. But in vain 
A shallow grief, which feels not why He bled. 



Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 6j 

In vain our pity, if we shrink to know 

Ourselves, our sins — their guilt, their debt 
of pain. 

IX 

And yet again Thou fallest — and so nigh 

The journey's end ! Ah, wouldst Thou not 
atone 

For our faint hearts — so niggard to Thine 
own — 
Who quail at crowning cost, and ofttimes fly 
The summit's edge, for all our climbing high? 

I ween 'tis this : and yet not this alone ; 

But Thy compassion too for nature's moan 
At sin's hard doom — necessity to die. 

Thyself wilt die ; and, dying, vanquish death : 
But first once more be proven very man 
By mortal dread. Lest, haply, we forget, 
As one by one is bidden yield his breath, 
How in dark fear Thy victory began — 
The cry, the sweat of blood, on Olivet. 



The wretches strip Him. Ruthlessly, rude hands 
tear 



68 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 

His garments, stubborn with the gory glue, 
From off the scourge-plough'd flesh — which 
bleeds anew, 

And quivers rawly to the lambent air. 

O " my Beloved, white and ruddy " 1 — fair 
Beyond all fairness — how Thy lovers rue 
To see that virginal Body meet the view 

Of brutal hate, the scorn of vulgar stare ! 

But Thou wilt have it — to avenge the blush 
Of outraged modesty for deeds of shame 
Since Eve's sin bred the sacrilege of vice : 
Nor lettest Thy astonish'd angels rush 

To guard and screen Thee with their swords 
of flame — 
For this would bar the second Paradise. 

Insatiate mockers ! With the wonted wine, 
And kindly numbing myrrh, 2 they mingle 
gall. 3 

1 Cant. v. 10. 2 St. Mark xv. 23. 

3 St. Matt, xxvii. 34. It was customary to give criminals 
before execution a drink of wine and myrrh : the wine being 
intended to stimulate their nerves, and the myrrh to diminish the 
sense of pain. Reading St. Matthew's account, we should infer 
that the gall was a cruel substitute for the myrrh : but St. Mark 



Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 69 

And I, my King ! The offered cup I call 
Love and devotion in return for Thine — 
How bitter must it taste when I repine 

At some fresh cross, which harder seems than 
all; 

Or self dares count Thy least of wishes small, 
And Thou so thoughtful for the least of mine ! 

Then, here and now, Lord, as I pray Thee strip 

My foolish soul of each new-woven pride, 

And cut each tie which binds me not to 

Thee; 

Mix Thou this draught and press it to my lip : — 

The wine, Thy love ; the gall, all joys beside — 

Or woes, so Thou hast tasted them for me. 

XI 

His butchers stretch Him on the altar-wood — 
This meek, mute Lamb of God. And He 
obeys 

expressly mentions myrrh ; so that the mockery lay in mingling 
gall with the benignant draught. Moreover, it is significant that 
St. Mark does not say that our Saviour tasted the drink, whereas 
St. Matthew does. This shows that our Lord tasted the liquid for 
the gair s sake, and refused to drink further because He would not 
have His sense of suffering lessened. The prophecy of Psalm lxviii. 
22 was fulfilled as to the "vinegar " when Jesus cried " I thirst ! " 



70 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 

As sweetly now as erst in infant days, 
When the new Mother by the manger stood : 
For thro' obedience comes redemption's good. 
Ah, She is standing here too : tho' with gaze 
Averse, yet listening as the hammer plays 
On each blunt nail that spurts the Precious 
Blood ! 

O Mother's Heart, I cannot ask to feel 

Those pangs of thine — which only do not 
slay 
Because Omnipotence holds thee to live on ! 
But there's a music in that ringing steel, 

Which make thou haunt me to my dying 
day — 
And most in death, when other sounds are 
gone ! 

Is it enough to hear those hammers ring ? 

Enough to know their music ? Love and 

faith 
Its burden. " See, He loves thee unto 
death — 
And this fierce, lingering death ! " the song they 
sing. 



Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 71 

Then faith a loveless, love a faithless, thing, 
Which will not " glory in the Cross," — as 

saith 
The rapt Apostle 1 — scorning the false breath 

Of worldling homage with its Caesar-king ! 

Yea, and thrice blest — a wisdom not for all — 
Who wed them to the Cross, by triple vow, 
Espousing death in life, lest love should 
fail. 
'Tis theirs to echo the deep heart of Paul 
With inmost symphony — as I do now: 
" Christo confixus cruci" 2 — nail for nail ! 



XII 

A nameless horror over earth and sky 

Creeps darkly. Nature shudders, and the sun 
Sickens unclouded — as his course were run 

For evermore, and he must gasp and die. 

On Calvary's dim summit, holding high 

Their burdens, loom three gibbets: and on 
one 

1 Gal. vi. 14. 

2 Gal. ii. 19, "I am fastened with Christ to the Cross." 



72 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 

Hangs the Man-God — His " Hour" at last 
begun : 
The Woman, Co-Redemptress, standing by. 

Nor she alone. The faithful John is there ; 
And Magdalen, abandoned to her woe, 

Kneels with white arms about her true 
Love's cross, 
Catching His Blood upon her golden hair. 
Queen-penitent, tho' other tears may flow, 
Who shares like thee the sinless Mother's 
loss ! 



With big, slow moments three dark hours suc- 
ceed : 
Three ages to those aching hearts and eyes 
That watch their dying God. 

The jeering cries 
Of jubilant hate His silence will not heed: 
But lo ! Himself has broken it, to plead 
"Father forgive them!": and the Mother 
sighs 
Her pardoning prayer with His : and mercy 
plies 
At awe-thrill'd breasts awaking to their need. 



Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 73 

And one, at least, accepts the proffer'd grace 
With comforting quickness : even thou, blest 
Thief! 
Pledge that none need despair, however late. 
Yet let presumption fear that other's place, 
Who swells the bitter sea of Mary's grief, 
And dies at Jesus' side — a reprobate ! 

" Woman, mine hour is not yet come," He said 
At Cana's marriage-feast ; beholding there 
His own espousals with the Bride " all fair," 1 

And what red dower the Mystic Vine must shed 

For Eucharistic banquet ere they wed : 
Yet granted the anticipating prayer, 
To show what advocate beyond compare 

Should one day stand us in a mother's stead. 

But now has come that Hour. Again He calls 
Her " Woman " — Second Eve. " Woman, 
behold ' 
Thy son ! " He says — my Church : the 
child no less 
Of thy Heart than of Mine. 

Creative falls 

1 Cant. iv. 7. Of course, by the " Bride " I mean the Church. 



74 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 

That word. Henceforth her bosom can enfold 
Us all with true maternal tenderness. 



" Behold thy Mother ! " Words He might have 
said 
At Bethlehem, from the crib ; for she was then 
New Eve, and Mother of our Life : or 
when 
He rose, the deathless u first-fruits 1 of the dead " ; 
Or forth to Bethany His lov'd ones led 2 

To watch the heavens receive Him out of ken. 
But no : He chose this Hour : and caused the 
pen 
Of him who heard to write what we have read. 

Yes, dearest Lord ! Our Mother was to be 
By Thy gift doubly ours. And Thou didst 
wait 
Till she had shared Thy Passion — -seen 
Thee prove 
Thy love for us, and proved her own for Thee 
To last excess : then solemnly instate 

The Queen of mercy in her realm of love. 

1 I Cor. xv. 20. 

2 St. Luke xxiv. 50. 



Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 75 

" Amen, amen, I say to thee this day 

Shalt thou with me in Paradise repose.". . . 

Poor recompense, this garner'd one, for those 
Innumerous scorners in malign array 
Who forced His sweat of blood ! With fresh 
dismay 

He sees them now; and feels again the 
throes 

Of fruitless travail — keenest of all woes 
To love like His, and last to pass away. 

May well, then, from His soul's depths burst 
the cry, 
"My God, My God! Why hast forsaken 
me ? " 
Why left me helpless to my love's 
defeat ? 
O mystery of sin — unanswer'd " Why " ! 
But 'tis to let Him conquer we are free : 
Must else ourselves that bitter wail repeat. 

"I thirst ! " The same wild plaint. More souls 
to save ! 
Ay, more to suffer, could it rescue all ! . . . 
Alas, the vinegar mocks Him like the gall ! 



76 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 

" 'Tis finish'd ! " then. The cup His Father 

gave 
Is drain'd save death. (His Sabbath in the grave 
Awaits Him but as victor of its thrall.) 

Ah ! . . . awful voice ! Is it the judgment- 
call— 
That cowering earth shakes like a storm-caught 
wave ? . . . 

" Into Thy hands, O Father, I commend 

My spirit ! " Then the bow'd head yields 
the ghost. . . . 
Eternal God, life's Master, deigns to die ! 
O mourning universe, well mayst thou rend 
Thy hardest rocks ! But human hearts can 
boast 
A sterner adamant — and still defy ! 

His death our life. This many a gaping tomb 
Attests — disgorging its long-moulder'd prey. 
Old Adam's tomb is here, traditions say ; 

Beside it Eve's. I ween earth's second womb 

Issues each perfect form. 

And now the gloom 
Lifts softly, and the sun regains his ray : 



Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 77 

While evening follows with a calmer sway 
Than ever reign'd since Eden ceased to bloom. 

Behold the Temple's veil is riven in twain ! 
Abides no more the Covenant of Fear. . . 
Hail, law of Love — New Testament of 
grace ! 
Let the insulting soldier thrust amain ! 

Thou touchest the true Door, thou magic 
spear ! . . . 
Hail, open'd Heart — our home, our hid- 
ing-place ! 

XIII 

Desolate Mother, sorrow's day has set 

For Him thou claspest there, but not for thee ! 

When thou hadst seen thy Jesus' soul go free, 
His body was to bear one outrage yet ; 
And thro' thy own heart went the spear that let 

The mingled stream gush forth. 

And now thy knee 

Supports that Form, all gently from the tree 
Down-taken; and, at last, thy lips have met 

Each Wound-mouth : how those cruel thorns 
still cling 



78 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 

Among the tangled, ruby-jewell'd gold ! 

While the deep lull within thee only wakes 
Thy memory the more to each quick sting; 
And woes o'er-past, renewing thus their 
hold, 
Deny the rest our worn-out anguish takes ! 

How readest thou, my Queen, that wondrous 
Book 
Thou bendest o'er, the while with precious 

nard 
Thou closest rift and gash ? Dost thou 
regard 
Our sins that scored the page ? Or rather 

look 
At love's sweet argument — His love Who took 
Their penance on Himself, nor deem'd it 

hard ? 
Let me not wrong thee. Nothing can retard 
Thy pardoning pity. There is not a nook 
In all thy bosom, where a moment lurks 

Of aught but love for sinners. Thou didst 
share 
His Passion for their sakes ; and didst be- 
come 



Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 79 

Their Mother by thy throes. 

'Tis this that works 
Within thee — the new mother's tender care 
That each child-soul shall find thy Heart 
a home. 

XIV 

And now the sad procession wends its way 
To Joseph's garden. As a maiden womb 
First held that Body, so a maiden tomb 

Receives it for the birth of Easter-day. 

Yes, dearest Mother, let His rich friends lay 
Thy treasure here, amid the vernal bloom, 
Which breathes of life, not death — of joy, 
not gloom : 

Fit rest for One who cannot know decay. 

Thine the last touch ; the last look thine. 

'Tis o'er! 
Thou goest home with John and Magdalen : 
Two broken hearts; but not so lone as 
thine, 
Tho' strangers to thy peace — and evermore 
Forgetful of the promised morrow, when 
Their eyes shall greet again that Face 
divine. 



80 Sonnets on the Way of the Cross 

Thyself "a garden enclosed," like that where 
lies 
Thy buried Love : yea, and " a fountain 

seal'd" 1 — 
Seal'd like His sepulchre. For unreveal'd 
Thy sorrow's depths — ev'n to the angel eyes 
That watch thy vigil for the Easter skies, 
And see thy soul a stainless light congeal'd. 

Yet mortal sight, by faith's anointing heal'd, 
Discerns the Spouse-Church — veil'd in mystic 
guise. 

We hail thee, " at the Cross thy station keep- 

ing," 

Our Priestess at the altar of all time — 
The Church at Mass. So here, in equal 
measure — 
Thy whole life centred where thy Lord is sleep- 
ing— 
Thou imagest the Church with trust sublime 
Guarding the Host, her tabernacled treas- 
ure. 

1 Cant. iv. 12. 



To St. John 8 1 



TO ST. JOHN 

T^O— D AY my task is ended ; and to-day, 
Virgin Apostle of the Sacred Heart, 
Thy octave closes. Ah, then, deign impart 
Thy blessing to these sonnets. Let me lay 
The poor fond tribute I have dared to pay 

At such a shrine, with weak, presuming 

art — 
Yet vow'd to traffic in this holy mart — 
In thy chaste hands ; and ask thee, if I may, 
To offer it to Her whom I too call 
My Queen and Mother. 

She will sweetly take 
The gift from thee, her first adopted son ; 
And then, in turn, present it — and with all 
Her Heart to Jesus : Who, for that love's 
sake, 
Will smile upon it as a thing well done. 

Octave of St. John the Evangelist, 
Jan. 3, 1882. 



82 Easter 

EASTER 

i 
T3IGHT peacefully He rests: while vigilant 
hate 
Seals the great stone — as if, forsooth, to show 
More gloriously the triumph of its Foe ; 
And sets its valiant guard — to earn the fate 
Of bribing " sleeping witnesses " 1 too late. 
But is not love awake ? If, kindly slow, 
The Sabbath-hours glide softly o'er the woe 
Of hearts too crush'd — save one — to hope and 
wait; 

That One is watching — faithfully — alone : 
A tranced vigil : even thine, my Queen ! 
And sees thy soul His spirit move in light, 
From Abraham's Bosom thro' each dimmer zone 
Of Limbus ; till its beauty glads, I ween, 
Socrates', Plato's, Virgil's, 2 yearning sight. 

1 St. Augustine. 

2 Sister Catharine Emmerich saw our Lord descend into the lim- 
bus of the Pagans. I have been told also, by a well-informed 
theologian, that Plato appeared one day to some ancient writer who 
had been berating him for his errors, and said: "Why are you 
calling me such hard names ? When our Lord came down into the 
limbus of the Pagans, I was the first to greet Him, and He spoke 



Easter 83 

11 

The long night wanes. Dawn's first touch grays 
the East. 

At the seal'd sepulchre the watchmen pace 

Less sullenly — soon to quit the gloomy place ; 
And curse the craven fears of Scribe and Priest. 
But lo, this instant, while they guess it least, 

The tomb is empty ! 

On our Lady's face 

A glory falls. She wakes in the embrace 
Of Him Who brings her joy's eternal feast ! 

O recompense of sorrow ! Whose the lyre 

Shall worthily hymn that ecstasy of rest ? 

No strain of mortal bard ; nor ev'n the lays 

Which wing to God from each Angelic Choir : 

No, nor thy own full heart, O Mother blest ! 

But His alone thro' Whom is perfect praise. 

in 

And now the sun a blood-red shaft has thrown 
O'er doom'd Jerusalem. When lo, a light 

very kindly to me." In Montalembert's "Monks of the West," 
too, we have the beautiful story of the monk who prayed for Virgil, 
and presently heard a soft voice which bade him continue to pray, 
that they might one day "sing the mercies of God" together. 



84 Easter 

Bursts sudden on the guards' astonished sight, 

From giant form to heathen creed unknown ! 

Earth quakes beneath his step : the great seal'd 

stone 

Rolls at his touch aside. So dazzling bright 

His face, the soldiers swoon in deadly fright; 

Then flee, and leave him calmly throned — alone. 

Prince 1 Michael this. And next, the Princes 2 
twain, 
Gabriel and Raphael, take within the cave 
Their seat, to wait the Magdalen's brave 
quest. 3 
But she will hear "Why weepest thou ? " in vain : 
And weeping linger by the empty grave, 
Till He is found — her love, her life, her 
rest. 

IV 

Many and sure the proofs which Jesus gave 
That He had " risen indeed " ; but one, to me, 
Dearest of all. 

He knew the times to be : 

And let His own Apostle doubt, to save 

1 Dan. xii. I. 2 Ibid. x. 13. 

3 St. John xx. I, II, 12, etc. 



Easter 85 

Our tempted faith. 1 Ay, knew, too, we should 
crave, 
From very faith (else where our love ?), to see, 

natural Thomas, and to touch, with thee, 
That glorious Body, spoiler of the grave. 

And ah, He keeps the death-marks of His 
choice — 
Five shining Wounds — five rosy mouths, to 
plead 
With Him for mercy, and with us for love ! 
How safely we can trust their tender voice ! 
Yea, and that Mother who beheld them bleed 
Still reads us in them where she reigns above, 
v 
Bethink thee, thou that enviest these who saw 
Our risen King, what after-life they led : 
To self, to earth, to time, how truly dead — 
For they had died with Him. Their only law 
" Thy kingdom come " : in thought, word, act, 
to draw, 
As risen members of a risen Head, 
Their life from His. Ah, must it not have sped 
Full of deep peace and love's delicious awe ? 

1 See St. Gregory's Homily on the Gospel for the Feast of 
St. Thomas (December 21) in the Roman Breviary. 



86 "The Last Hour" 

But hast not thou died with Him ? Hast not been 
" Buried with Him by baptism into death " ? 1 
How fareth, then, thy risen life ? 'Twill 
thrive 
As thou shalt " daily die " 2 to self and sin. 
" All for the Sacred Heart ! " its very breath — 
Their watchword who " in Christ are made 
alive." 3 



"THE LAST HOUR" 4 

" A LL for the Sacred Heart " — watchword 
^ of Faith ! 

Ah, how we need it in these selfish days — 
We who can feel overcreeping earth's ways 

Chills from the vale of the shadow of death ! 

Low is our sun. 'Twill be setting full soon. 
Yet sweet and warm is its lingering light — 
There, on the hills ! . . . We can climb to 
that height ? . . . 

Winsomest hour, too, this late afternoon. 

1 Rom. vi. 14. 2 1 Cor. xv. 31. 

3 1 Cor. xv. Z2. 4 I St. John ii. 18. 



"Running Waters" 87 

Ay, we must climb, would we breathe the pure 
air. 

Is it so hard to live nearer to Heaven ? 

Harder, methinks, to stay down unforgiven. 
On to those sunlit hills ! Jesus is there. 

Mary is calling us. Hark to Her song : 

" All for the Sacred Heart " — watchword of 

Hope! 
Joseph is near us, to help with the slope. 

What shall we fear, but to tarry too long ? 

Yea, " 'tis the last hour." The sun of our Faith 
Sets on a world that wills darkness for light. 
Souls that would live must ascend to a height 

Safe from the chills of the shadow of death. 

Valparaiso, Chile, 
Feast of the Sacred Heart, 1888. 



"RUNNING WATERS" 1 

T KNOW five rivers, flowing night and day 

With swift and voiceful tide : 
Yet seen by faith; and only hearts that pray 
Can hear them as they glide. 

1 "Cast thy bread upon the running waters." — Eccles. xi. 1. 



88 "Running Waters" 

Rivers of souls. The first, of all that go 

Each hour to that wide sea — 
Of boundless happiness or shoreless woe — 

We call Eternity. 

And second, the poor souls in mortal sin : 

But ah, how vast a stream ! 
Its turbid waters rushing with a din 

Might wake the worldling's dream ! 

The narrow third — of all in God's dear grace — 

Runs purely, brightly, on : 
But oft, thro' rocks and bars that break its race, 

Finds passage hardly won. 

Full darkly the broad fourth. All souls without 
Their one true home, the Church. 

Jews, heathens, Turks : souls groping in their 
doubt, 
Or keen in earnest search : 

Some in their errors proudly self-contained; 

Some holding quite aloof 
In coldest apathy ; some, too, who have gained, 

Yet spurn, the clearest proof. 



Mater Dolorosa 89 

Last, the fifth river : murmuring evermore 

The sweet-sad plaint of those 
Who, roll'd on fiery billows toward the shore, 

Pine for its blest repose. 

****** 

What shall we do, then, who have hearts that 
pray ? 

There is a Heart which gave, 
Thro' Five glad Wounds, Its life-blood all away 

For every living wave 

Of these five streams. Then, daily let us take 

Drops of that Blood, and shed 
Them freely o'er the waters. Each will make 

Some passing ripple red. 



MATER DOLOROSA 

(~\ MY Queen, we find Thee fairest in Thy 

mortal days of moan : 
In the garment of Thy Dolors most our Mother, 

most our own ! 

Link'd with Thine, our pain and sorrow gain 
a beauty and a worth, 



90 September 

Which, to faith's eye, make them precious — 
more than any joys of earth : 

Treasures we may bring to Jesus, rescued from 

life's waste and loss — 
Offer'd on Thy Heart's pure altar, as Thou 

standest by the Cross. 



SEPTEMBER 

HTHE month, my Queen, which brings thy 
natal day : 
And yet we give it to thy Dolors Seven ! 
And lo, the strains have scarcely died away 
Which hymn'd thy bright Assumption into 
heaven ! 

But ah, though sinless, thou wast born for woe : 

For deepest grief no less than highest joy ! 
And since God fashion'd woman's heart, we 
know, 
Stronger than man's — more pure from selPs 
alloy — 



September 9 1 

He gave to thine a love beyond all love ; 

And, with it, strength for pain beyond all 
pain : 
That when thy destin'd Spouse, th' Almighty 
Dove, 
From thee, His own " seal'd fountain," free 
of stain, 

Should form for us our Jesus' Sacred Heart, 
That Heart might prove the duplicate of 
thine : 

Thy love, thy sorrow, for its chosen part ; 
And only more intense because divine. 

What marvel, then, that we, who sing this 
moon 

The Triumph of the Cross, beside it place 
Thy Seven Swords of woe — and this so soon 

After our gaze upon thine infant face ? 

Born to be our sweet Mother, we remember 
How dear it cost thee. Lovingly we see 

The mystic septem 1 in the year's September : 
For truly children of thy Dolors we. 

1 Seven. September was the seventh month in the old Roman 
calendar. 



92 Ad Mariam pro Maria 

AD MARIAM PRO MARIA 

i 

TV /[OTHER of Sorrows we still call thee, 
though 
In Paradise thou reignest, tasting naught 
But perfect joy. More comfort to our thought 

Thy mortal sympathy with pain and woe. 

Mother of Sorrows, it is mine to know 

One named from thee, of life so trial-fraught, 
Full sure am I of gracious purpose, wrought 

For some rare fruit the destined hour will show. 

But ah ! she needs thy tender help — the might 
Of thy true Heart to lean upon. I trust 
My sister to thy keeping. If she share 
Thy desolation when the shades of night 
Came down o'er silent Calvary, 'tis just 
She find thy bosom her one refuge there. 

n 
Keep her in thy Heart for Jesus, sweet my 

Mother, dear my love ! 
In thine inmost bosom cherish, safe for Him, this 

stricken dove. 
She, thy child, her soul would offer victim for a 

work like thine — 



To Monica 93 

Sorrow's victim, grace-united with the Holocaust 

Divine : 
Yea, her body too is yielded gladly to the pain 

she braves : 
All to save an erring husband — win him to the 

faith that saves. 

O that faith ! How fair is sorrow Passion-color'd 

by its light ! 
Beauteous as the dawn of Easter when it broke 

thy vigil's night. 
And how merit-strong affliction, wedded to thy 

dying Son ! 
Every pang a plea availing, every woe a triumph 

won. 
Such was thy faith : such my sister's. Keep, 

then, keep this stricken dove 
In thine own inviolate bosom, dear my Mother, 

sweet my love ! 



TO MONICA 1 

T THOUGHT to place you in the desolate 
1 Heart 

1 The " Maria " prayed for above. She has both names. 



94 To Margaret 

Of Mary — when she held to it her Dead. 
" Yes, dearest Mother, keep her there" I said : 
u And make her very soul of thine a part ! " 

O fond forgetting ! For, in sooth, 'twas there 
I found you — there, at foot of the Cross, we 

met. 
Reminded now, how came I to forget ? 

Still, not in vain the oft and tender prayer, 

" Sweet Mother, keep her there ! " But now I say : 
" And me too with her, in the dolorous core 
Of thy pierced bosom, till I learn a lore 

Less hard now such a sister leads the way — 

" The lore which maketh saints — the love of all 
That self most shrinks from." Yea, for this 

we met. 
A lesson may I nevermore forget, 

Whatever hope recede or darkness fall ! 



Y 



TO MARGARET 

OU ask me for a poem, gentle maiden 
Then be yourself my theme. 



To Margaret 95 

In those blue eyes — 
Twin lakes inviting summer skies — 
I read a soul with sacred sorrow laden ; 
Yet sunshined with a gleam 
Of hope that is no dream. 

A dream, were faith a dream and earth its ending : 
But never a dream, so long 
As God's dear grace 
Leaves evil chance no lurking-place; 
O'erruling, and to one sweet purpose blending, 
Life's joys and sorrows — strong 
To right each passing wrong. 

What to a heathen mind were ill-starr'd meet- 
ing— 
A freak of cruel fate — 
Has proofs for you 
Of hidden good, as clear and true 
As had you learnt them from an angel's greeting ! 
And if the light bids wait, 
God's time is never late. 

A Father's Hand till now has wisely guided : 
Not His to lead astray. 
O'er all the past — 



96 To Margaret 

And most, when seem'd it overcast — 
A Mother's heart has tenderly presided. 
That Hand, that Heart we pray 
To shape your future way. 

And what if peace await you in the treasure 
Of high vocation stored ; 
And wonted price 
Demand — of costly sacrifice? 
Who, looking on the Crucifix, dares measure 
Love to that dying Lord, 
Like gold from miser's hoard ? 

Or shall we contemplate the sinless Mother 
Her post so staunchly keeping 
At Jesus' Cross, 
Nor see the gain of generous loss ? 
O privileged hearts — their joy beyond all other- 
Who sow with Mary weeping, 1 
To share her Easter reaping ! 

Feast of St. Bartholomew, 
Aug. 24, 1 88a. 

1 Ps. cxxv. 6. 



Southward 97 

SOUTHWARD 
1 
"PROM round to round of bluest sea, 
While softest breezes fan the deck, 
I pass serene ; and little reck 
Of what the morrow's skies shall be. 

I pass content, tho', day by day, 

Two shores belov'd — a double home — 
Are left o'er ruthless leagues of foam ; 

And farther, farther drift away 

The forms more dear than any land — 
The beating hearts that love me well, 
And mourn with me the broken spell 

Of look, and word, and hand in hand. 

I pass content, for this I know : 
The will I follow is not mine, 
But one that speaks with voice divine, 

And calmly, wisely, bids me go. 

11 

And if, in priesthood's middle years, 
I quit old fields, familiar long, 



98 Southward 

For new and strange — which seems a wrong 
To those who chide me thro* their tears : 

u Are we, then, such a fruitless toil ? " 

" Who wants you more than we who 

know ? " 
'Tis only that I needs must sow 

Where the great Master turns the soil. 

And if again my native isle 

I leave afar, with kith and kin, 

Tho' new hope whispers, " Stay, and win 

These to the faith " — and sweet her smile : 

I yield them to a better care 

Than mine ; and place a proven trust, 

Which cannot crumble into dust 
While breathes on high that Mother's prayer. 

S.S. Pleiades, January, 1884. 



To a Widowed Mother 99 



TO A WIDOWED MOTHER 

ON THE DEATH OF HER ONLY DAUGHTER, 
AGED SEVEN 

I 

T MOURN with you — but not your child : 
I weep with you — but not for her. 
How should I grieve that one so blest 
Has enter'd her eternal rest ? 
That one so sweet, so undefiled, 

Shall never walk with feet that err ? 

But you — weep on. A mother's tears 
Are sacred ever, nor can wrong 

The holiest dead. And well I know, 
Dear friend, how keen your bosom's woe. 
The sunshine of your widow'd years, 

You fondly hoped would cheer them long, 

Has vanish'd. Ay, 'tis saddest loss ! 
But God will make it greater gain. 

His grace was with you when you knew 
That she must go, yet, staunchly true 
To duty, took the proffer'd cross ; 
Then knelt beside the bed of pain 



ioo To a Widowed Mother 

No longer to avert death's stroke 
But rather woo its kind release. 
" O dearest Mother, ere I tell 
This decade, let my darling dwell 
In Heav'n with thee ! " . . . 'Twas heard. She 
woke 
To meet God's smile of perfect peace. 

ii 

An earnest of that peace was yours, 
Brave mother, as you bow'd and said 

" My God, I give Thee back my child ! " 
Ah, surely, then on you He smiled, 
And blest with purpose that endures 
Your upward yearning, sorrow-led, 

For nobler life. More grace and more 
Awaits, the promised crown to gem. 
What purifies like loving sorrow 
For faith's to-day and hope's to-morrow ? 
'Twas Calvary brought our Queen a store 
Of richer joy than Bethlehem. 

Of richer joy. For Her true Heart, 
Thro' all its Dolors' wave on wave, 
Still sang " Magnificat ! " and still 



To A. W. 101 

Rejoiced in God's exacting will ; 
Deserving thus Her royal part 

In Easter's triumph o'er the grave. 

And you, dear friend, ev'n here may know 
A foretaste of the bliss to come : 

Hold commune with your child, and prove 
A tender, ever-watchful love, 
Which will not fail, but daily grow — 
So you draw daily nearer Home. 

Buenos Ayres, 

Feast of St. James the Greater, 

1885. 



TO A. W. 



/^O, happy friend : inhale once more 

An English summer's balmy breath. 
Queen May will welcome you ashore, 

And give you purest wine to drink — 
The sense of Home : — so sweet, you'll 
think 
Of Heaven's bright welcome after death. 



io2 To A. W. 

Ah, there our Patria — there is Home — 
That Heaven ! We can but journey here 
(In moments when the heart is lonely- 
How keenly felt this " exile only " !) 
However little we may roam 

From native land and all that's dear. 

In lonelier moments : ay, as when 

I stood but yester-afternoon 
To see you go : and once again, 

What time I hail'd the soaring moon 
That lit so well your Northward prow : 
And still — as I am musing now. 

ii 

" Forgive me, Lord," I said to-day, 
" That I have dared look o'er the sea 
Too fondly tow'rd my own dear land; 
And long'd for ev'n a passing stay 

With those whom I have left for Thee — 
With sister's kiss and brother's hand : 

" For here my place — to live or die. 

Thy work be done : Thy will be mine ! " 
And then I thought how you will think 



To A. W. 103 

Of one who forms a golden link 
'Twixt you and years of Southern sky ; 
Reminded, as you near the Line, 

How he, on deck one April night, 
First saw the Great Bear heave in sight, 

Then turn'd to where the Cross still shone ; 
And all that it had meant for him — 

And still might mean, tho' that was gone — 
Came o'er him till his eyes were dim : 

And sharp the struggle, wild the prayer : 
" Not back to exile ! I am free. 

So Thou but will it. Let me go 
To my America — for Thee ! 

A larger field to plough and sow, 
A richer soil, await me there." 

Then came the answer from within — 

The still, small voice, so wondrous strong : 
" Not vainly points yon starry Cross 
The only beacon, wouldst thou win 
Eternal gain by present loss ; 
And shortest route, tho' seeming long." 



ic>4 Why God Loves Us 

And so, dear friend, till night is o'er, 
The Cross your only light shall be : 
What tho' you find an earthly goal 
In some sweet haven of the soul 
Where circles the " inviolate sea " 
The freedom of our England's shore. 1 

Buenos Ayres, 
April, 1885. 



WHY GOD LOVES US 

IV /TY sister said to me one day : 

" You talk of riddles now and then, 
Where simple faith suffices me. 
But here's a point beyond my ken, 
Which your philosophy may see : 
How God can love us ? Tell me, pray." 

" You wonder how He finds us fair — 
Is that your trouble ? " answer'd I. 

" Yes, that and more. How He can love 
Such nothings to His all ; and why, 
When we offend Him so, and prove 
So unresponsive, He can care 

1 The lady has since become a Sister of Mercy in England. 



Why God Loves Us 105 

" To sue us with His grace, as tho' 
He needed us," quoth she. And here 
Her eyes were filling from her heart. 
" It is a mystery deep and dear, 

That you would fathom. Yet, in part," 
I said, "'tis granted us to know. 

" God loves — in all that He has made — 
Himself. His beauty, wisdom, power, 

Shine in His works, or great or small : 
In sun and planet, bird and flower. 

Must He not prize, then, more than all, 
This soul of ours, whereon is laid 

" His very image, like a seal ? 

And if He ' sues us with His grace 
As tho' He needed us,' 'tis plain 
That, thankless as we are and base, 
His glory reaps the larger gain 
From working out our perfect weal. 

u So, let it pass fond reason's powers, 
How God can wisely love and well 

Such nothings : still, sweet sister mine, 
Our spirits may serenely dwell 

On one sure truth : — that love divine 
Loves for its own sake — not for ours." 



io6 A Birthday Greeting 

A BIRTHDAY GREETING 

TO S. M. B. 

"DERHAPS, dear friend, you murmur'd, as 
you woke, 
" Another year of weary, lonely life 
Begins ! Is this the last ? " And keen the 
strife 
For resignation under time's fresh stroke. 
But no : I hope a blither spirit spoke 

Within you; pointing upward to a height 
That needs but a little patient climbing — 
quite 
Accessible : while easier seem'd the yoke, 
Lighter the burden, which the unseen Love, 
Yet scarce believ'd, has laid on you. O trust 
That love ! But suffer with closed eyes its 
sway : 
And soon, true heart, the inexorable must 
Will vanish in the privilege of may y 
As on you journey to your crown above. 

Feb. 28, 1878. 



To Teresa Lucy 107 

TO TERESA LUCY 

ON HER BIRTHDAY 

CALL'D you " Tessie with the earnest 
eyes " ; 
And when, to-day, I see an image fair >?*?' " 
That comes and goes like some remember'cTair 
Of sacred music, thus my thought replies : 
" May God's dear grace preserve her calm and 
wise 
Like those whose radiant names 'tis hers to 

share — 
Who made the Heavenward path their only 
care, 
Yet look'd not fondly for unclouded skies." 

Full happy years I wish you ; but implore 
The Saint whose truer natal feast we keep, 
That he, crown'd lover of the " precious 
Cross," 1 
Your master prove in that sublimest lore 

Which lifts the soul from all that worldlings 
weep 
And turns to gold the very dust of loss. 

Feast of St. Andrew the Apostle, 

Nov. 30. 

1 " Salve Crux pretiosa ! " etc. — Antiphon. 



08 To Lucy Teresa 

TO LUCY TERESA 

ON HER TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY 

T UCY — 'tis a name of light, 

Softly, virginally bright ; 
Shining from a martyr's brow 

Down the ages like a star; 

With a glory wide and far, 
Yet as freshly risen now. 

Wear it, then, dear daughter mine, 
As a token grace has given — 
Of a call to live for Heaven, 

Witnessing 1 to Truth Divine : 

Praying still " Thy Kingdom come ! " 
In an age that will not pray — 
In an age that turns from light 
Back to worse than pagan night, 

Making life a martyrdom 

Would we " walk as in the day." 

With your Saint a martyr live : 
Show like her the perfect good 

Only Christian faith can give — 
Purest, noblest womanhood. 

1 "Martyr" means "witness." 



To Lucy Teresa icq 

11 

Yes ; for you have passed to-day 

Into womanhood's domain. 
Girlhood now must drift away 

After childhood's sunny hours : 
Wait you now, for woman's powers, 
Deeper joy and higher pain. 

Ah, but fear not lest you meet 
More of bitter than of sweet ! 
Crosses to your lot must fall, 

And, it may be, weigh you down ; 
But the heaviest of them all 

Surest makes the promised crown. 

Lean on Jesus' Heart and Mary's : 
Theirs a love that never varies — 
Such a tender, patient love, 
Brooding o'er us from above, 
And in ways not understood 
Shaping all things into good. 

Let the holy Angels guide you, 

This their month: and one, you know, 
Tarries evermore beside you, 

Faithful friend in weal and woe. 



no Sursum Cor da 

Then, too, she whose hallow'd name 
Decks your birthday with its fame 
(And — devotion wisely shown — 
Dear Teresa, 'tis your own) ; 
She will join Saint Lucy's care : 
Ay, and something more than share — 
Feeding you from volumed store 
With a wealth of golden lore. 

Hear her speak, while yet she press'd 
Onward, upward, to her rest : — 
" Suffer naught to mar your peace : 
Tremble not at new or strange : 
All things earthly pass and cease : 
God alone will never change ! " 

Feast of St. Teresa, 
Oct. 15 th. 



SURSUM CORDA 



SAW her standing by his grave, 
The grave of him to whom she owes, 
Under God's grace, the faith that glows 
Within her bosom pure and brave. 



I 



Sursum Cor da in 

Four years had follow'd on his loss : 
Yet there in summer womanhood, 
Alone, and sweetly constant, stood 

The virgin wedded to the cross. 

But naught of sadness clouds her life. 
'Tis full of brightness ; rich in power 
To comfort — and with larger dower 

Than had she prov'd a happy wife. 

Her faith begets an equal hope : 
A hope that sends its music forth 
Like that sweet singer of the North * 

Who warbles " on the sunrise slope." 

ii 

Not " better to have lov'd and lost 
Than never to have lov'd at all," 
If death could hold eternal thrall 

And mock us with a vanish'd ghost. 

But now that we may love and gain — 
May hold for aye, in death's despite 
(For this faith gives us with its light) — 

Our hearts need never love in vain. 

1 Miss Katherine E. Conway, of Boston, author of "On the 
Sunrise Slope " and other graceful poems. 



ii2 To Mother Mary Xavier Theresa 

When human love leads up to God — 
As yours has led, O true and strong ! 
Let parting come : 'tis not for long. 

The mortal moulders in the sod \ 

But, soul with soul communing still, 
Each sunrise nearer brings the morn 
When rosy bliss without a thorn 

Shall crown our trust on Sion's hill. 

May, 1894. 



TO MOTHER MARY XAVIER 
THERESA 

ON HER GOLDEN JUBILEE 1 



"T^WAS a jubilee day, our First Mother's 
First Daughter, 
When, setting your face tow'rd the Western 
afar, 

1 Written for an address from the Sisters of Mercy, at Manches- 
ter, N. H. Mother Ward was Mother McAuley's first professed 
novice : and she volunteered, with six companions, to come out to 
the United States at the request of the bishop of Pittsburgh, Pa. 



To Mother Mary Xavier Theresa 1 1 3 

You braved the long leagues of the storm- 
haunted water, 
To follow the shining of Mary the Star. 

On toil'd the good ship, bringing nearer each 
morrow 
Its message of mercy, its burden of love : 
Seven offerings of faith from the " Island of 
Sorrow " — 
A mystical band with the seal of the Dove. 

But you were the chief of that virginal Seven : 
And lo, when their feet touch'd America's 
shore, 
'Twas the day your Saint Xavier had landed in 
Heaven ! 
And the blessing he gave you abides ever- 
more. 

11 

Again 'tis a Jubilee Day, dearest Mother ! 

Your daughters stand up in this home of the 
free, 
And bid to-day echo the joy of another, 

Which dawn'd ere you follow'd the Star of 
the sea. 



ii4 To Erin 

'Twas the morn of your bridal. The troth 
you then plighted 
How faithfully kept, we your children attest. 
You may count us by scores : and we greet 
you, united 
With happier scores who have gone to 
their rest. 

This Jubilee Spousal — this calm Golden 
Wedding — 
Lights up like a sunset the grace-fruited 
past : 
And we hail in the peace its sweet radiance 
is shedding 
A pledge of the glory shall crown you at last. 
1882. 



TO ERIN 



*"PHE Passion Flower of nations, thou, 

O Erin, Isle of Sorrow ! 
Yet ever shines about thy brow 
The light of Faith's to-morrow. 



To Erin 115 

Where'er thine exiled children go, 
Heav'n smiles benignly o'er them ; 

Where'er they turn, in weal, in woe, 
The Cross leads on before them. 

O " Populus Apostolus " 

(As Rome's great Council call'd thee) ! 
'Tis God's high purpose guides thee thus, 

His will that hath enthrall'd thee. 



11 

When Jesus died, His face was turn'd 

From Salem's thankless city ; 
While toward the West his bosom yearn'd 

With love's forgiving pity. 

From age to age before Him spread 
The future's wondrous story; 

His eyes each people's annals read — 
Its more of shame than glory. 

His Church would conquer far and wide, 

Yet oft the while defeated ; 
The scornful robber at His side 

Again, again repeated. 



n6 To Erin 

in 
He saw His Rome, from Satan reft, 

Her empire stronger, vaster, 
Than arms and cunning skill had weft 

For earth's now vanquish'd master. 

He saw new kingdoms rise and fall, 
Republics thrive and perish . . . 

But one dear spot from out them all 
A fonder love should cherish. 

A land by rough seas virgin-isled 
F th' North's half-mythic regions; 

Nor, like her sister shore, defiled 
By tramp of Caesar's legions. 

IV 

He call'd attendant angels three, 
And sent them swiftly winging 

O'er mount and vale and pleasant lea 
Where April green was springing. 

" Go, sow my Blood for after years — 
Seven drops of ruby treasure ; 

And gather from my Mother's tears 
Of pearls an equal measure. 



In Honor of a Golden Wedding 1 1 7 

" Go, shed them o'er yon chosen soil : 

The Isle of Martyrs make it. 
My grace shall there find richest spoil; 

My mercy ne'er forsake it ! " 



IN HONOR OF A GOLDEN WEDDING 

A GOLDEN jubilee of wedded life ! 
O venerable pair, your plighted troth 
Hath borne the fruits (alas, too rare a growth !) 
Of charity and prayer and peaceful strife. 
A faithful husband, a devoted wife, 

Look back through fifty summers, and can 

say: 
" Ay, God did surely grant our marriage-day 
A blessing with unwonted favors rife. 
Of children nine, all live. And daughters 
twain 
Are vow'd to God in dear St. Joseph's band : 
No loss to mourn, but only priceless gain. 
While — prouder honor still — 'twas not in vain 
We ask'd that one among our sons might 

stand 
Before God's altar with anointed hand." 



n8 Hand Frustra 



HAUD FRUSTRA 1 

" \l\ ^ King, now barren looks a life-long toil 
In Thy vast field of souls ! No sheaf 
appears — 
For all Thy promise that who sow in tears 
Shall reap in joy ! By far the larger spoil 
Is claim'd by those Thou settest us to foil — 
Who taunt us with what seem but wasted 

years ! 
Ah, make we our account with many fears, 
Poor stewards of Thy corn and wine and oil ! " 2 



" Use well My grace to do thy little best. 
Not thine to answer further. Leave to Me 
Our seeming failure in the strife with sin. 
Some glorify My mercy, and the rest 

My justice. Work in peace. Enough for 
thee 
To know that My elect are gather' d in." 

1 "Not in vain." 

2 "A fructu frumenti, vini, et old sui : multiplicati sunt." 
— Ps. iv., Office of Compline. 



A Thought for October 



A THOUGHT FOR OCTOBER 

(~** OD'S own elect — we know not who they be ; 
Yet hour by hour He sees them gather'd in : 
Nor all from ways of peace and purity ; 

But more from devious paths, and some from 
haunts of sin. 

" From the four winds " His angels gather them : 
And if the many out of favor'd lands, 

That hail in Rome the New Jerusalem, 

And touch, for gifts of Heaven, her priests' 
anointed hands ; 

Yet not a few from homes of broken truth, 
Where Mother Church an alien must abide; 

And some from darken'd realms in very sooth, 
O'er which the Prince of Hell still lords it 
far and wide. 

O Precious Blood, Thou wast not shed in vain 

For these the number'd chosen ones. But we 

Must help Thy cause — with prayer and toil 

and pain, — 

And all the more that here we know not 

who they be. 



1 20 A Thought for November 

Sweet Angels, teach us to be strong like you 
In patient waiting. This the month we give 

To your dear honor : skies of cloudless blue, 
That speak of Heav'n, and airs that make it 
joy to live. 

Ah, pray that while we value things of earth 
As symbol'd well in autumn's rich decay, 

Our hearts may wisely treasure at its worth 
Each act for love of souls, done, suffer'd, day 
by day ! 



A THOUGHT FOR NOVEMBER 1 

1 
f\ HOLY Souls, for whom we pray, 

Abide ye near, or far away ? 
At times we think you very far; 
As when we watch the evening star, 
And muse if some be prison'd there — 
If penal world can shine so fair : 
Or when, on some still, tender night, 

The very moonlight seems a wrong — 
Shed from an orb of wreck and blight, 

1 First published in The Poor Souls* Advocate. 



A Thought for November 1 2 1 

Where moaning ghosts must wander long 
O'er barren plain and airless height, 
Beneath extremes of fiercer hold 
Than tropic heat or polar cold. 

11 

Yet well I ween ye never leave 

This planet till the blissful hour 
When, durance o'er, ye cease to grieve 
And pass to realms of kingly power. 
But some beneath earth's surface keep 
Their darksome vigil ; others roam 
The desert sands, the wind-swept deep ; 

And some, more favor'd, haunt the home 
Their childhood loved, or where they died. 
Yet all are purged and purified 

By pains intense we cannot guess — 
Or searching, sacramental fire, 

Or darkness to which night were day : 
What tho' they be at peace no less, 

And gladly suffer while they pray — 
Their thought of thoughts, their one desire, 
To see the God in whom they live, 
The Infinite Beauty, and possess 

That All His Face alone can give. 



122 The Law of Liberty 

THE LAW OF LIBERTY 1 

i 
A H me, how very guileless once was I ! 
As good a child as ever said its prayers 
In blissful ignorance of by and by, 

Or prattled of its joys and wept its cares 
As though they were the great world's chief 
affairs. 
How black was then the whitest shade of wrong ! 

How base to fly a footstep on the stairs ! 
Ah, that first sense of guilt, so keen and strong — 
That instinct for God's rights — we strangle it 
ere long ! 

And wherefore ? To be free: free to enjoy — 
To follow our own bent. At first in things 

Of little harm and natural to a boy : 

But soon — it may be ere a dozen springs 
Have bloom'd the bower of innocence — there 
sings 

A bird that lures us with its magic lay, 
Or merely with the glitter of its wings, 

To chase it : and we ramble — on — away — 

Heedless of any voice that warns us not to stray. 

1 St. James i. 25. 



The Law of Liberty 123 

Or if not far we wander, but return 

While yet 'tis May, the virgin bower is gone. 

And oh, how seldom from our loss we learn 
A knowledge that would make us kings, if 



won. 



And wiser than the sated Solomon ! 
Far easier 'tis to wander soon again, 

And then more wildly, daringly, run on, 
All reckless of return — however plain 
Th' inevitable end, foreshown us pain by pain. 



11 

God and His rights grown irksome to our will, 
The rebel flesh bids intellect arise — 

Hurl doubts at faith — defy the threaten'd ill — 
Mock at the preacher — catch the gay replies 
Of older fools, and flaunt them in the eyes 

Of younger. And, if fires Lucretian glow 
Within us, " Alma Venus " takes the skies, 

Sole deity : " Foeda Superstitio " * 

Gulfing the rest, with all the nightmare realm 
below. 

1 See the opening lines of Lucretius' great poem, "De Natura 
Rerum." 



1 24 The Law of Liberty 

Thus burst our youthful fetters, are we free ? 

Have brain and heart the scope which man- 
hood craves ? 
Ay, free, forsooth, if so the ship at sea 

Sans chart or compass, scorning winds and 
waves ! 

Right gallantly our self-steer'd vessel braves 
A fogg'd horizon, or " an isle misdeem'd " ; 

But finds no shore — unless where lower slaves 
Than Circe's own (for there the beast but seetrid} x 
Invite us to despair of all we have fondly dream'd. 

And well for some if they but make that strand, 

And taste the cup Circaean. One I know 
Who deigns ev'n there to reach a rescue's hand, 

Which some have touch'd, as Mercy's annals 
show. 

But sullen pride, its own relentless foe, 
Drives on forever, like the Phantom Bark, 

Let tempest lash or gentlest breezes bjow. 
In vain the Sea Star beacons through the dark : 
In vain the red Cross gleams from Peter's saving 
Ark! 

1 The enchantress gave her guests a drink which turned them 
into beasts. — Homer' s * ' Odyssey.' ' 



The Law of Liberty 125 

in 

Poor youth ! If pitying manhood would but 
draw 
This lesson from thy follies, it were well : — 
For Freedom Order lives ; for Order, Law — 
The Law which sanctions everlasting Hell. 
Thus Satan learnt, and those that with him 
fell; 
And Adam, when he pluck'd the fatal tree. 

Too late for the lost angels, doom'd to dwell 
In hopeless exile : and for us, if we 
"Abide not in the Truth" 1 — the Truth which 
" maketh free." 

« What is the Truth ? " Who ask with Pilate, 
find 

No answer : for they seek not while they ask ; 
But either smile with will-averted mind, 

Or shirk the burden of an earnest task. 

Ne'er wore humility the sceptic's mask, 
Nor " honest doubt " 2 play'd trifler. Say thy say, 

1 Our Lord says of Satan that he " abode not in the truth." 

2 Tennyson's phrase : 

"There lives more faith in honest doubt, 
Believe me, than in half the creeds. ' ' 



1 26 The Law of Liberty 

Agnostic ! 'Tis thy pride, that loves to bask 
In passing sunshine of a frivolous day — 
'Tis pride's, not reason's, voice — that boasts it 
cannot pray. 

To call " Unknowable " the Greek's «■ Un- 
known " 

Is turning back to worse than pagan night. 
The Athenian's altar made a stepping-stone, 

To reach up tow'rd a Father " out of sight." 

He blush'd not to adore the Perfect Right, 
The Beautiful and Good, of Plato's thought 

And Aristotle's logic : reason's light 
Bearing him witness that itself is caught 
From an Eternal Mind, as sage and poet 
taught. 

IV 

What is the Truth ? The order God has will'd 
Whereby the creature shall its end attain. 

For this came down of old the Word that thrill'd 
The patriarchal bosom, nor in vain 
To Moses and the Prophets spake again : 

The Word that promised a Redeemer's birth, 
And told how God Himself would not disdain 



The Law of Liberty 127 

To stand Incarnate on our sinful earth 
And make Obedience shine a thing of matchless 
worth. 

By disobedience fell the blight of sin 

On this fair world : and through the woman 
first. 
'Twas fitting, then, redemption should begin 

With woman, and be thus our loss reversed. 

To Mary, Second Eve, no spirit accurst, 
But Heaven's bright angel, enter'd where she 
pray'd ; 

Revealing to her heart, for God athirst, 
The love Divine that will'd her Mother-Maid : 
And her humility's gladness peacefully obey'd. 

Then Jesus, Second Adam, born to do 

His Father's will in all things, not His own, 
Did set such pattern of obedience true, 
From Bethlehem's cave to Calvary's dying 

moan — ■ 
Ay, even to the seal'd sepulchral stone — 
That, first and last, a holocaust was He. 

And now — though seated on His glory's 
throne : 



i28 The Law of Liberty 

For still He deigns our Sacrifice to be — 
In Eucharistic life obeying men like me ! 



I ween, then, 'tis Obedience holds the key 
Of Wisdom's temple. " You shall know the 
Truth," 
Said Jesus; "and the Truth shall make you 
free." 
Yet 'tis a bondage too, in very sooth — 
This freedom : spurn'd by folly -blinded youth, 
But welcom'd as the Master's " easy yoke," 

When God's dear grace infuses timely ruth, 
Nor deals His justice we have dared provoke 
(A payment long o'erdue) the swift avenging 
stroke. 

Light yoke of Christ, that sets His bondsmen 
free 
From lust of selfish heart and lawless brain ! 
" Come, all ye weary ones, and learn of Me. 
Cease chasing shadows — taking loss for gain. 
My Church shall make the Homeward journey 
plain ; 
Her voice Mine own, as all who heed it know : 



God Loved in Nature 129 

Shall heal and nourish, comfort and sustain, 
With aids it cost My Passion to bestow. 
Believe, obey, and find Heaven's foretaste here 
below." 

With mind like ours, and tender human heart, 

'Tis thus He draws us to the perfect good : 
Knowing we cannot live from Him apart, 

And all our needs divinely understood. 

Nor can we doubt His sweetness, if we would : 
Since, while demanding of our love His due, 

He shares the claim with Mary's Motherhood ; 
And bids us wear Her bonds about us too, 
And own Her Queen indeed — of beauty pure 
and true. 



GOD LOVED IN NATURE 

r T K own, my God, Thy wisdom and Thy 
power, 
As seen in Nature with her deeds and laws, 
Is reason's homage to the Primal Cause. 
Thy beauty, too, in star and bird and flower, 
In tint and hue, in Spring's aye-virgin dower, 



130 A Thought for Trinity Sunday 

In all things fair, would woo the heart to love, 
Tho' known not that "in Thee we live and 
move " — 
Thy Presence all about us every hour. 

But we, whose light is Thy Redeemer- Word, 
Whose reason Thou hast glorified with faith, 

We call Thee not alone Creator-Lord, 

But Father, Saviour, Lover, in one breath : 

And our hearts, when Thy wondrous works we 
see, 

Exhale the Passion Flower of Charity. 



A THOUGHT FOR TRINITY 
SUNDAY 

TS music but the poetry of sound — 

Melodious noise, tumultuous harmony ? 
An art, a science, with its birthplace found 

In Jubal, son of Lamech's minstrelsy ? J 
Nay, music is a language born in Heaven ; 

Nor then create, but of eternal birth : 
Ere stood before the Throne the Spirits Seven, 

1 Gen. iv. 21. 



To Nature 131 

Or quiring angels hymn'd the nascent earth. 
God's utter'd Word ; the evermore begetting 

Of the Co-Equal, Co-Eternal Son : 
Their mutual Love — that tide forever setting 

Back to its source : the perfect Three-In- 
One : — 
Lo, here the primal music ! Hence were drawn 
Law, Order, Beauty, with Creation's dawn. 



TO NATURE 

IVTATURE, to me thy face has ever been 
Familiar as a mother's ; yet it grows 
But younger with the wearing years, and 
shows 

Fresher — unlike all others I have seen. 

The "beings of the mind," though "not of 
clay" — 
" Essentially immortal," 1 and " a joy 
Forever " 2 — even these may pall and cloy, 

For all that poets gloriously say. 

1 " The beings of the mind are not of clay : Essentially immor- 
tal," etc. — Byron. 

2 "A thing of beauty is a joy forever." — Keats. 



132 To Nature 

Yea, and thy own charms, Nature, when por- 
trayed 

By hand of man, become the spoil of time. 

The seasons mar, not change them : in sublime 
Repose they reign — but evermore to fade. 

Whence comes, then, thy perennial youth re- 
newed ? 

Thy freshness, as of everlasting morn ? 

God's breath is on thee. Of it thou wast born, 
And with its fragrance is thy life bedewed. 

Nor can I need aught sterner than thy face 
To wean me from the things that pass away. 
Not by autumnal lesson of decay, 

Or vernal hymn of renovating grace; 

But by this fragrance of the Infinite : 
For here my soul catches her native air ; 
And tastes the ever fresh, the ever fair, 

That wait her in the Gardens of Delight. 



Choice in No Choice 133 

CHOICE IN NO CHOICE 

T KNOW not which to love the more: 

The morning with its liquid light ; 
Or evening with its tender lore 
Of silver lake and purple height. 

To morn I say, " The fairer thou : 
For when thy beauties melt away, 

'Tis but to breathe on heart and brow 
The gladness of the perfect day." 

And o'er the water falls a hue 

That feasts, but cannot sate, the eye. 

'Twould seem our Lady's mantle threw 
Its glory from an upper sky. 

But when has glared the torrid noon, 

And afternoon is gasping low, 
The sunset brings a sweeter boon 

Than ever graced the Orient's glow. 

And I : "As old wine unto new, 
Art thou to morn, beloved eve ! 

And what if dies thy every hue 

In blankest night ? We may not grieve. 



34 Suggested by a Cascade 

" Thy fading lulls us as we dote. 

Nor always blank the genial night : 
For when the moon is well afloat, 

Thou mellowest into amber light." 

Is each, then, fairer in its turn ? 

'Tis hence the music. Not for me 
To wish a dayless morn, or yearn 

For nightless eve — if these could be. 

But give me both — the new, the old : 
And let my spirit sip the wine 

From silver now, and now from gold : 
'Tis wine alike — alike divine. 



SUGGESTED BY A CASCADE 

i 
TVTOT idly could I watch this torrent fall 

Hour after hour : not vainly day by day- 
Visit the spot to meditate and pray. 
The charm that holds me in its giant thrall 
Has too much of the Infinite to pall. 

For tho', like time, the waters pass away, 
They fling a freshness, a baptismal spray, 



Suggested by a Cascade 135 

Which breathes of the Eternal Fount of all. 
And so, my God, does Thy revealed Word 

In living dogma, or on sacred page — 
Flow to us ever new ; tho' read and heard 

Immutably the same from age to age. 

And thither Nature sends us to assuage 
The higher longings by her voices stirred. 

11 

Those voices, like the one I listen here — 

Tho' blending evermore, as tone with tone — 

Are each a perfect music : each, alone, 
A faultless melody even to the ear; 
But to the heart a mystery as dear 

As the unutter'd meanings of its own. 

And other sweet monotonies, unknown 
To all but Catholic hearts, sound year by year, 
And day by day, yet weary not. The song 

Of Holy Church, her Mass, her Vespers, flow, 
Like this clear stream, unchangingly along ; 

Nor newer seem'd a thousand years ago. 

Then where the proof great Nature's self can 
show, 
Of source Divine, more exquisitely strong ? 

Lake George, 1875. 



136 An Earnest 



AN EARNEST 

T^HE world is ever to the child 

The same as when on me it smiled 
And thrill'd a bosom undenled : 



Its freshness evermore renewed 

With sunny morn, and flowers bedewed, 

And light-wing'd joys to be pursued. 

Then Spring was all, and darling May ; 
And thro' the Summer's sweet delay 
The Golden Age regained its sway : 

While Autumn came with thankless pace, 
And yielded with a sullen grace 
To Winter's hard, relentless face. 

A change : and these had welcome grown, 
As friends of calmer, deeper tone, 
Whose thoughts anticipate our own : 

While those mov'd dreamlike in the vast, 
With vanish'd hopes too bright to last 
And memories of a purer past. 



An Earnest 137 

I said : " When I have done with earth, 
Will that first joy seem nothing worth, 
Or know a second, larger, birth ? " 

I ween the answer tarried long : 

But when it came 'twas clear and strong, 

Tho' softer than a linnet's song : 

The voice of Faith, forbidding doubt ; 
The voice of Nature round about ; 
The voice of God — within, without. 

" Your conscious heart has told you sooth, 
That you regain'd, in gaining Truth, 
A freshness better than of youth. 

" What need you, then, of hint or view, 

More than this foretaste of the dew 

That falls where God c makes all things new ' ? " 



ST. HERMENEGILD 
A Passion Flower of Spain 



TO THE MEMORY OF 

The Very Reverend Augustine F. Hewitt 

D.D., C.S.P. 
WHO SUGGESTED THIS SUBJECT TO THE AUTHOR 



INTRODUCTION 

^\ X 7"HILE a guest of the Lazarist Fathers in 
Santiago, Chile, in the year 1888, 1 found 
in their library a Spanish work very like our 
Butler's u Lives of the Saints." Having for 
years entertained the idea suggested by the ven- 
erable friend to whose memory I inscribe the 
realization, I took notes from the book just 
mentioned regarding this martyr of old Spain. 
These notes, together with St. Gregory's short 
story given in the Roman Breviary, appeared 
sufficient data for a narrative poem. Accord- 
ingly, I planned one of about half the length 
of my present attempt; but one which would 
have been, as I afterwards discovered, consider- 
ably at variance with historic fact. 

It was not until a year ago last January that 

I found time to do much at my poem : and 

when I was n earing the end of it, it occurred 

to me that I had better consult the Bollandists 

143 



1 44 Introduction 

— their ponderous tomes being at hand (in this 
our Pittsburgh monastery). To my surprise, I 
found that the time which elapsed between 
Leovigild's declaration of war and the martyr- 
dom of St. Hermenegild was six years instead 
of three ; that while some authors made it three, 
they were inaccurate, the date of Easter at the 
time of the martyrdom settling the year beyond 
dispute. Consequently, I had to change my 
plan and divide the story into two parts. But 
I found no leisure for finishing the poem until 
the present year. 

I have, of course, used the license accorded 
to poets and romancers, but within, as I think, 
very reasonable bounds. The incident of my 
hero sending wife and child to Africa I took 
from the Spanish " Lives " aforesaid. 

With regard to the name of my Saint, I keep 
the form of it which is undoubtedly the Gothic 
original. It is not so musical, perhaps, as " Er- 
mengild," or even "Hermigild," — modern forms 
I have seen ; but I believe in using the name 
found in the Roman Martyrology. The £, let 
me remark, is hard. The name of my heroine 
is given as " Ingun^V " by the Bollandists, but 



Introduction 1 45 

as " InguiWtf " by the Spanish historian : and 
since " Gosvindtf " is the only form of the other 
lady's name in either work, I conclude that 
Gothic names of women admitted of the Latin 
termination. 

St. Paul's Monastery, 
Pittsburgh, Pa., March, 1896. 



ST. HERMENEGILD 
PART I 



I 



T EOVTGILD, the Arian king of Spain, 

Had warr'd upon the Roman faith, and 
driven 
Its Greek adherents off the settled coasts. 
Then, planning boldly, in his pride of heart, 
To make the crown hereditary and keep 
Succession with his line, he raised his sons, 
Hermenegild and Reccared, to share 
Barbaric splendors of the Visigoth sway : 
Bestowing Andalusia's rich domain 
On Prince Hermenegild — first-born, best lovM ; 
To Reccared the realm of Arragon 
Assigning, with the provinces that lay 
'Twixt Ebro and the Pyrenean wall. 

Of Catholic mother came the princes twain : 
And sore, I ween, had Theodosia griev'd 
To see them rear'd in heresy. For well 
She lov'd her faith. But, blent with mother's 
tears, 

149 



150 St, Hermenegild 

The mother's prayers went upward day and 

night j 
Returning in a dew of grace that fed 
The seed she had planted in each childhood's 

breast, — 
A Catholic love and reverence for the names 
Of Jesus and of Mary. Thus she lived, 
Sowing in tears to one day reap in joy. 
Whereof was earnest sent her at her death, 
What time her brother Leander came himself — 
A saintly prelate he of Christ's one flock — 
Ay, came himself to robe her soul for flight, 
Leovigild conniving. " Fear thou not, 
My sister," quoth the saint. "Thy task is 

o'er. 
Like Magdalen, what thou couldest thou hast 

done. 
The day thy summons found me, while I stood 
Holding aloft the consecrated Host 
With wonted thought of thee, I heard a voice 
Within me ; and, in vision of the mind, 
Beheld two champions chosen to restore 
The true faith's glory to our Spain, and one 
To reign upon her altars for all time. 
Thy sons, my sister. Thou, like Monica, 



A Passion Flower of Spain 1 5 1 

Hast brought them forth a second time — to 

God." 
And so this "valiant woman " died in peace. 

But soon Leovigild, with tearless eyes, 

Look'd round for other consort, and espoused 

Gosvinda, widow of Athanagild, 

And sharer in his own perverted creed. 

Then, bent to find Hermenegild a bride, 

Obtained Ingunda's hand — a princess famed 

No less for virtue than for beauty : ay, 

And richer far with faith's high dower than 

aught 
Of gold or gems could make her. 

Daughter she 
To Sigisbert the Frank and Brunechild, 
Child of Gosvinda ; for whose sake, in sooth, 
Leovigild had made reluctant choice. 
" I know her," urged the vixen. cc She is soft 
As wax to skilful hands. Leave all to me. 
A year in this our palace, at the most, 
And, trust me, thou wilt see her change for truth 
Her Roman superstition, like a dress." 
And so they met — the bridegroom and the 

bride — 



*5 2 St. Hermenegild 

One April day. And straightway, all his heart 
Went out to her, and all her heart to him. 

II 

A moon past sweetly o'er the bridal pair 
Within the imperial city, where the flock 
Of Peter, thronging their one suffer' d church, 
Had hail'd the prince's nuptials as a pledge 
Of coming freedom : so assured were they, 
Knowing his kindly nature, he would prove 
Their advocate, and stay his father's hand. 

Meanwhile Hermenegild, from day to day 
Increased in love and reverence for a spouse 
So pure, so gentle ; and Ingunda prayed 
That God's dear grace might lead him to the 

light — 
The choicest blessing she could ask for one 
So worthy perfect trust. But not for long 
This happy season. Ere the second moon 
Had left the crescent, pale Gosvinda's hate, 
Till now dissembled well, made clouds, and 

threw 
A shadow over peace. 

Leovigild, 



A Passion Flower of Spain 153 

On whom his daughter's loveliness had wrought 
A softening spell, but frown'd, and coldly said : 
" Tush ! Let her pray. What harm such 

women's prayers ? 
Hermenegild holds truly that, to ween 
Our Roman subjects from seditious thought, 
'Tis wiser to be mild and merciful." 
u Ay ! " cried Gosvinda, " and when comes the 

babe ? 
Nor one alone, be sure. Such women bear 
As well as pray." Quoth he : " The babe is 

ours. 
'Twill be but Theodosia once again. 
She bore me sons, and could not choose but 

yield 
Her offspring to the holy Arian cause. 
But whence art thou so zealous for the cause, 
With thy two daughters wed to Catholic kings ? " 

So, flushing shame, and swallowing the hot word, 
Gosvinda turn'd in bitter scorn, and vow'd 
Swift conquest of Ingunda. Whom she plied 
With hints of royal displeasure; then with 

threats 
Of exile from the husband of her love. 



154 St. Hermenegild 

At these Ingunda smiled : such trust had she 
Her mate would follow wheresoe'er she went, 
Ev'n should he lose a kingdom for her sake. 
And once she spoke of refuge and defence — 
Her father Sigisbert, the Catholic king : 
Whereat Gosvinda, letting loose the fiend 
Within her, fell upon the sweet young wife, 
And dragg'd her by the hair, and beat her sore. 

Now, twice and thrice, the meek Ingunda took 
This outrage as a welcome drop of gall 
From out her Saviour's chalice, and besought 
The Virgin-Mother for her tender aid 
In strength of silence. But it timely chanced 
That Prince Hermenegild, with soon return 
Gosvinda guess'd not, suddenly came where 

lay, 
Torn, bleeding, and in swoon of seeming death, 
His heart's beloved. 

" Ha ! some woman's work 
Is here ! " quoth he. And when the sum- 

mon'd maids 
Had help'd revive their mistress, and he said 
" Go, tell the Queen that I would speak with 

her," 



A Passion Flower of Spain 1 5 5 

And drew for answer " The Queen keeps her 

room 
Till evening" — straightway the divining thought 
Flash'd into knowledge. Then, dismiss'd the 

maids, 
With solemn charge of secrecy, he knelt 
Beside his bride's recumbent form, and kiss'd 
Her face and hands, and sooth'd her tenderly. 

" My dearest, with thy perfect love and trust 
(Which well I know), how couldst thou hide a 

wrong 
Not born, I ween, to-day, nor yesterday ? 
For twice and thrice have I observ'd a pain 
In the blue eyes, and round the timid mouth ; 
Yet thou didst meet my question with a smile 
That made me think thy meditation ran 
On that new image of the Crucified 
I hear of — yonder, in the church. But now 
The cause is clear. Without one word of thine, 
I know the wretch, whate'er her motive be — 
Fanatic zeal, or jealous spite, or both — 
Has dared to lay her sacrilegious hands 
On my Ingunda. And I blame myself 
For not withdrawing sooner. We will go 



156 St. Hermenegild 

To where my princedom's capital awaits 
The presence of its ruler. Fear thou naught. 
'Twill take but little to persuade the King." 

But she made answer : " Husband of my heart, 
My prayer is granted. Now thou knowest all. 
But breathe not, I beseech thee, to the King 
Gosvinda's conduct. For right sure am I 
He dreams not of it. He has ever shown 
A father's kindness tow'rd me, for thy sake. 
Nor bear Gosvinda malice. We should pray 
For those that wrong us. Calmly let us go." 
Then, with her true arms twined about his neck : 
" O my beloved, 'twill be sweet indeed 
To reign with thee in Hispalis ! The Queen 
Talk'd exile at me — banishment from thee. 
I smil'd, supremely happy in the thought 
That thou wouldst surely fly to me afar, 
If forfeiting a kingdom. Such my trust." 
And he — could only seal it with his lips. 

Ill 

" Calm as thy stream, O Boetis, flows my life : 
But ah, how soon thy waters reach the sea — 
There to be lost in evermore unrest ! . . . 



A Passion Flower of Spain 157 

The sea — what means this strange presentiment 
That yet 'twill roll between my love and 

me ? . . . 
Begone, sad thought ! For all is gladness now. 
The bishop has at last return'd — at last 
(Again forgive, Lord, my impatient heart) : 
And I have seen him, told him all. My Prince 
Has promised to receive him graciously ; 
Nor only as his mother's brother, him 
Who stood beside her death-bed, bringer of 

peace ; 
But also as a lover of the poor, 
And one of whom the very Arians here 
Report but kindly. Ere to-morrow's noon 
They meet." 

'Twas thus Ingunda voiced her thought 
In Hispalis, one August afternoon ; 
Reposing in a favorite arbor, where 
The terraced garden look'd upon the river: 
And saw the morrow prove a golden day — 
A day long pray'd for, but of larger fruit 
Than brightest hope had ripen'd while she pray'd. 

They met — Leander, prelate, saint, and sage, 
And he, the chivalrous Prince : but not to hold 



158 St. Hermenegild 

The talk of polish'd insincerity. 
First greetings done, the Prince, revering more 
The uncle who had cheer'd his mother's death 
Than aught of churchly dignity, avow'd 
His ever-mindful gratitude, and past 
To speak of other merits in his guest — 
As watchful pastor, father of the poor. 
Whereat Leander courage took to plead 
For royal protection in his flock's behalf: 
Nor merely gain'd a promise, easily given 
And easily broken, or a smooth reply 
Which meant as little as it cost : but while 
The young man gaz'd upon the old man's face, 
He saw a peace there he had ne'er beheld 
With priest or prelate of his sect — a light 
That blent morn's hope with evening's perfect 

rest — 
And felt a ray let in upon his soul. 
Then, putting off the prince, drew near, and 

said, 
With look and pose of reverent earnestness : 
ct Father — so let me call thee — since thy 

coming, 
I know not why, but I have seem'd as one 
Born in a palace underground, and kept 



A Passion Flower of Spain 159 

From any light but garish lamps, and taught 
That all without was dimmer light, or dark : 
To whom steals down a messenger of good, 
Bringing the truth and breathing round a sense 
Of light and fragrance from the genial day." 

" The day indeed, my son. Now, God be 

praised ! " 
The saint made answer — ere his heart well'd up, 
Choking his utterance. Then Hermenegild 
Knelt suddenly before him, caught his hand 
And kiss'd it. But Leander, blessing him, 
Said quickly : " Rise, my son. Not now, not 

here. 
Come to me where in secret I may guide 
Thy soul, and feed it with the truth it craves. 
'Tis prudence bids me caution. I forebode 
Naught to myself, but much, my Prince, to thee. 
No shame in prudence. Maybe, thou hast 

heard 
How Nicodemus came to Christ by night : 
And did the Master chide him for his fear ? " 

So came by stealth Hermenegild, to learn 
From Him whom favor'd Nicodemus heard. 



160 St. Hermenegild 

For, hearing now Leander, he heard Christ ; 
And, hearing Christ, the Father, who had sent^ 
His Co-Eternal, Consubstantial Word 
To dwell made flesh among us, and to teach 
With human lips the Truth which giveth life. 
And sweetly flow'd this life into his soul, 
As eagerly listen'd the delighted Prince 
To that most restful mystery of faith, 
One God in Persons Three — all God in each — 
Indissoluble Oneness. Now was clear, 
What oft before had teas'd him as he thought, 
How God could dwell alone eternally, 
A boundless happiness within Himself, 
And need no creature's love. No creature, then, 
His Son, the Christ ; but very God of God 
Begotten : nor He through whom the Mother- 
Maid 
Conceiv'd : but She true Spouse, true Mother, 
of God. 

IV 

" Incomparable fact, that God is man ! 

The great Creator His own creature's Son! 

Omnipotence a babe ! What, after this, 

Is hard to faith ? What left for wonderment ? " 



A Passion Flower of Spain 1 6 1 

So mus'd Hermenegild, baptized, and seal'd 
The self-same hour with the confirming Chrism; 
And waiting for the morrow, to be fed 
With that Divine Food which is Christ Himself. 

To whom Leander, full of thankful love : 
" Yes, one thing still is left for wonderment : 
The Passion. Not so much that God should die, 
Once born a mortal : but that He should drink 
The very wine of pain ; should yield His flesh 
To mangling scourge, His head to thorny crown ; 
Be jeer'd at for a knave; mock'd for a fool; 
Struck face and mouth, and spurn'd, and spit 

upon; 
Take sentence to a slave's, a felon's, death; 
Carry shame's cross in company with thieves ; 
And die as one accursed ! . . . Is not this 
Surpassing wonderful ? " 

"Yet," quoth the Prince, 
Royal-hearted, " could the King of kings do 

less, 
In stooping to a Passion for our sakes, 
Than go the possible farthest ? Wring from 

pain 
And shame and insult the last bitter drop, 



1 62 St. Hermenegild 

Then drain and suck the cup, and cry c I thirst ! ' 
Unsated ? This, to me, seems worthiest God. 

" And what can we, in turn, do less than ask 
To suffer for His sake ? I envy those — 
Thy brethren, and now mine in common faith — 
Who have felt my blinded father's heavy arm: 
Tho' mine shall be the task to stem his wrath 
And turn it — Ay, I envy them ; and most, 
Whom death has crown'd with victory. And 
if I" — 

" Prince," said Leander quickly, " well I know 
Thy thought. And 'tis, in sooth, a noble greed 
That covets martyrdom. But thine, my son, 
Another charity for Christ ; nor less 
Of cost, — but more — in patient fortitude. 
Bethink thyself — thus early raised to share 
Imperial power, and timely led to truth — 
A chosen instrument in mercy's hand 
To work a people's rescue. And for this 
Is needed more than hero's courage, more 
Than statesman's prudence. Thou must seek 
to gain 



A Passion Flower of Spain 163 

Thy royal sire, with all thy kith and kin, 
By argument of pure and gentle life, 
Waiting God's hidden moments : even as she 
Whom His grace gave thee, rather than the 

King's, 
Hath now her waiting's joyous recompense. 
How much thou owest to her faithful prayers ! 
One day shall others owe as much to thine." 

With this he blest the kneeling Prince, and 

went : 
But with a haste unwonted, and a brow 
Which ill conceal'd the trouble deep within. 

" It must be so ! " he murmur'd when alone. 
" My heart foreboded truly. I have striven 
To keep his thoughts - — in this, perchance, to 

blame — 
Away from that extreme of sacrifice 
Whither they tend by what I now perceive 
An impulse all divine. I would not prove 
Another Caiphas ; yet come the words 
Of that arch-schemer aptly to my lips — 
c 'Tis well that one man for the nation die.' 



164 St. Hermenegild 

Let God fulfil His purpose. Mine the part 
Of prayer and preparation : yea, and more 
For my weak self, methinks, than ev'n for him, 
My neophyte. For if I may but share 
The palm with him, how undeserv'd a joy ! " 



But tranquilly as yet Hermenegild 

Enjoy'd his new-found faith : the while his 

spouse 
Look'd onward to an anxious hour, and pray'd 
That the young soul within her might arrive 
The gate of birth, which only leads to death, 
And, safely passing, reach that other birth 
Which is the gate of life. 

Nor vainly pray'd 
Ingunda, till her husband knew the joy 
Of holding to his heart a son and heir. 
Ah, innocent babe — and can it be that thou, 
Dear pledge of benediction, sent to crown 
Thy parents' love, wilt bring them cruel woe? 
Little, I trow, the mother dreamt of grief — 
Too rapt in bliss that only mothers know. 



A Passion Flower of Spain 165 

But soon Hermenegild betray'd his thought 
By silent mood and look of stern resolve : 
Resolve heroically strengthen'd, when 
Leander, summon'd to the palace, gave 
Counsel as stern, tho' calm withal and sweet. 

" God save thee ! Loud the acclamations ring, 
From town and hamlet, that 'a prince is born — 
An heir to the new throne of Hispalis ! ' 
All thought of creed forgotten for the nonce: 
Yet not with priest and prelate of the sect. 
Their Arian malice, ever on the watch, 
Erects its venomous head, and waits to strike. 

" Thou sayest ' Let it strike ! The time has 

come 
For open avowal. It were base to hide 
The full truth longer.' Even so, my son. 
Thy true heart here no counsel needs of mine. 
Thy subjects all shall see their sovereign's heir 
Baptized right solemnly in the Catholic faith. 
But mark me : one of two things follow — flight 
Or war. For swiftly will the message go 
To rouse Leovigild — incredulous yet, 
But warn'd, and smarting from Gosvinda's taunts. 
And here thy heart doth counsel need of mine. 



1 66 St. Hermenegild 

A sudden journey, such as Joseph took 
To Egypt, with the Virgin and her Child, 
Is not, alas ! for thee. But thou canst send, 
With ample guard, the Princess and the babe 
On visit to her father Sigisbert : 
Thyself awaiting letters from the King, 
And pleading with him as a son should plead; 
Meanwhile, if this be fruitless, gaining time 
To countervail his measures." 

Bow'd the Prince 
In loving reverence ; and simply said : 
" Enough, my father. Be thy counsel taken. 
'Tis God who guideth thee." 

And bright the morn 
Which saw the royal babe new-born to life 
Eternal, with the name Theodoric. 
Great was the feasting : deep the joy of all 
Within the Fold ; while few of those without 
But shared the dance, the viands, and the wine, 
With equal zest; indifferent to the loss, 
Which some resented, to the Arian cause. 

VI 

But now the reptile head, in act to strike, 
No longer paused. If swiftly to the King 



A Passion Flower of Spain 167 

Ran couriers from his son, a greeting fair 
Of filial love and pride paternal bearing, 
As swiftly sped the messengers of hate. 
And soon came back a letter to the Prince, 
Of most undoubtful meaning. 

"Son," it said, — 
" My first-born, pride and hope of many years — 
Thy timely message, that is born to thee 
A son and heir, fell coldly on my heart, 
By reason of another word, that kept 
Swift pace with thine : yet so incredible, 
That I withhold belief till thou thyself 
Confirm it. Hast thou weakly yielded, son, 
To thy young wife's persuasion, and allow'd 
A Roman prelate to baptize thy child ? 
If so, what wonder that our Arian priests 
Declare thyself perverted from the faith ? 
Now, write me, speedily, the very truth : 
That I may know^ and knowing act." 

The Prince 
Made answer thus : " My King, my father, 

know 
The very truth. God's mercy, undeserv'd, 
Has call'd me out of darkness into light. 
My sweet young wife has no persuasion used, 



1 68 St. Her mene gild 

Nor other influence than her constant prayer 
To Heaven. Blame not her, nor yet my lord 
Leander, my dead mother's brother. Chide 
Myself alone, if chide thou must. But know 
That I am still thy loyal subject, still 
Thy loving son, who only asks to keep 
His new-found faith in peace. Let truth be free, 
Since truth alone can make her bondsmen free. 
And if thou doubt my hold upon the truth, 
As now I know it, see what I have risk'd 
For its dear sake : and trust me, when I say 
That I am ready to lose throne and crown, 
And wife and child, — yea, life itself — for Him 
Whom now I worship as my Lord and God, 
Second in Consubstantial Trinity." 

Now, in his secret heart, Leovigild 

Was mov'd by this high courage of his son 

To admiration and a pact of peace. 

But pale Gosvinda, plying him with threats 

Of ripe rebellion she herself had plann'd — 

Feigning it learnt from confidence betray'd 

By over-trusted women of her suite — 

So wrought upon him that he suddenly sent 

This stern rejoinder: 



A Passion Flower of Spain 169 

" If, in thirty days, 
Our son and subject, Prince Hermenegild, 
Have not abjured the creed of Rome, and sworn 
To live himself, and rear his infant heir, 
True to his country's faith : then, let him know 
We judge him traitor, and will visit him — 
An army at our back. Thus saith the King." 

VII 

" He gives me thirty days. 'Tis well. But thou 
Must fly, my darling, with our little one ! 
And I have plann'd the whither; but must seek 
Leander first, and get his benison, 
Before I break the doleful news to thee." 
Thus to himself Hermenegild. And when 
Leander, radiant with a prayer-caught light, 
Had read the sullen mandate of the King, 
And heard the young man's scheme, he gave at 

once 
His sanction and his blessing, with a word 
Prophetic. " Be it so, beloved son. 
Ingunda and the child will safely reach 
That shore, and yet another, where thyself 
Shalt give them Easter joy." Whereat the 

Prince, 



170 St. Hermenegild 

Forbearing further question, craved the boon 
Of his good uncle's presence and support, 
The better to prepare his tender wife 
For swift and cruel parting. 

Her they found 
Watching the cradled slumbers of her boy, 
And musing on that Queen of womanhood, 
The Virgin-Mother with her Babe Divine. 

u My daughter," said Leander, " thou hast heard 
Of Herod's rage, and Joseph's sudden flight, 
With Mary and her Child, to heathen land. 
In God's mysterious counsel, a decree 
Of exile — 'twill be brief — must now go forth, 
Bidding thee fly from heresy's mad rage, 
And take thy infant to a friendly shore. 
Alas, without thy Joseph ! But not long 
Wilt have to bear this parting, as I trust. 
I see an Easter morning — when the Prince 
Shall glad thine eyes, crown'd victor from the 

fight.- 

No scream : no swoon. But, falling on her knees 
Beside her babe, she bent her comely head, 
And murmur'd : " Fiat, O my Father, fiat ! 



A Passion Flower of Spain 1 7 1 

Fiat voluntas tua, O my God ! " 
Then silent wept. Whereat Hermenegild 
Knelt too, to soothe her. And Leander blest 
The stricken pair, and offer'd them to Him 
Who, in His wondrous love, for them Himself 
Had offer'd — in the crib, and on the Cross. 
The bishop blest them for a moment ; then 
Slipt softly from the room, and left them there 
Unconscious he had gone. 

But soon the Prince, 
Arising from his knees, all gently raised 
His drooping bride, and held her to his heart. 
" My own sweet love, so nobly brave thou art, 
I need not hesitate to tell thee all. 
Come, sit beside me on this couch the while, 
And lean thy head upon a faithful breast. 

" The King has granted me but thirty days 

To yield submissively myself and heir 

To live for what he calls our country's faith, 

Abjuring that of Rome. To plead were vain. 

I know his spirit. Rather would he brook 

Defiance than a craven suit for pity. 

I wis, he fears rebellion, and the loss 

Of kingdom : thinking that the Arian Church 



172 St. Hermenegild 

Has power to overthrow him. I will prove 
That here his quiet has been play'd upon. 

u Then why must thou, beloved, flee his wrath ■ — 
Thou and our infant son ? Because he comes 
(So reads the message) after thirty days, 
An army at his back. Nay, tremble not, 
My darling.'' " 'Tis for thee." " Nor yet for 

me. 
I too can raise an army : and our cause 
Is just — the cause of Truth — the cause of 

Christ. 
My people love me : and the King will find 
My Arians choose between us in a way 
He little dreams of. 

But the plan of flight. 
Whither shalt go ? Where hide our little one ? 
Leander spoke before of Sigisbert, 
Thy father; who could shield thee well. But 

now 
Thou couldst not thither hie and shun pursuit, 
I fear me. So another plan is mine. 
Among our subjects here in Hispalis, 
A stalwart son of Holy Church, and one 
Whom God has prosper'd in extensive trade, 



A Passion Flower of Spain 173 

Has frequent traffic with the Roman towns 
On Afric's coast. In one a mansion owns ; 
Residing now on this shore, now on that. 
He, having friends at court, and learning thence 
Gosvinda's triumph in the threat of war, 
Came privily, ere closed the second day 
That follow'd the despatch, and nobly made 
An offer of his house beyond the sea ! 
His wife and three young daughters winter there; 
And wait to show thee loyal welcome, love, 
While guarding well the secret of thy rank. 
Their servants will be thine : thou needest take 
But one handmaiden and Theodoric's nurse. 
Our holy Church is there, too ; and thy soul 
Will find religion's comfort, even as here. 

" Wilt go, then, dearest ? For a goodly ship 
Lies in the river, ready to convey 
Thyself and babe to safety and to rest. 
You go aboard by night, and sail at dawn : 
Thus baffling prowlers, maybe, on the watch 
To seize our child — anticipating flight 
Tow'rd Sigisbert's dominions. Wilt thou go ? " 
" Yea, husband of my heart : thy will is mine ; 
For surely it is God's. To-morrow night ? " 



174 St. Hermenegild 

u Amen. And keep Leander's cheering words 
Fresh in thy memory. Whether few the weeks, 
Or many, till the promised Easter morn, 
That man of God had caught a light in prayer. 
But if this coming Easter pass us by 
Still parted, then shall Heaven's kind breezes waft 
My darling to her native shore : and there 
Her childhood's home will guard her till we 
meet." 



END OF PART I 



ST. HERMENEGILD 
PART II 



T^HE thirty days pass'd quickly. But the 

Prince 
Had visited the Roman camp, and gain'd 
A promise of support — too lightly given, 
Had he but noted. Then to all his towns 
Had gone himself, or trusty spokesmen sent, 
To state his cause and prove it one of peace — 
Religious peace, and conscience' sacred rights : 
To all proclaiming fullest liberty 
To hold and worship as it seem'd them good. 
" His sire, Leovigild, in evil hour, 
Had listen'd to a voice that counsell'd hate. 
Religion should be love. And if the King, 
Hardening his heart, as Pharao did of yore, 
Should bring the curse of war on loyal son 
And faithful subjects, then with him must rest 
The guilt ; with him the dread account ; and fall 
On him the sentence of the Sovran Judge." 

So now he sent his answer to the King : 
Nor wasting love, nor showing sign of fear. 

177 



178 St. Hermenegild 

" His subjects all were with him, quite content 
Beneath his rule's light yoke. Leovigild 
Might come himself and question thro' the 

land. 
The Roman captains had approv'd his course, 
Unsheathing friendly swords. His wife and 

child 
Were far from danger's reach. 

While hoping still 
That wiser counsels might avail to change 
The King's intent, yet firmer his resolve 
And firmer grew, to battle for God's truth, 
If need should be — ay, even unto death. 

" But thou, my Sire, canst thou, in turn, speak 

thus — 
Tho' well persuaded thine a righteous cause ? 
Art waging war on thine own flesh and blood 
From greater dearness of eternal truth ? 
Nor, rather, from a most unworthy fear 
Of swift dethronement by a pamper'd Church — 
Thy Church, not mine ? 

Enough, I leave thee now, 
With steadfast prayer, to conscience and to 

God." 



A Passion Flower of Spain 1 79 

But came no further message from the King; 
Nor any sound of arms. Hermenegild 
Hoped greatly for a space ; yet, undeceiv'd, 
Went on preparing for long siege of war, 
Knowing his father's suddenness of mood. 
But little guess'd the generous-hearted Prince — 
Of whom, in sooth (most happily for him), 
The mother's nature had the larger share — 
That proud Leovigild would stoop to craft, 
Or deign the basest of all weapons use, 
The potency of faith-corrupting gold. 

II 

Bright Easter, gladdest feast of all the year, 
Some earnest brought of triumph and of rest 
To our young hero : but Leander's word, 
'Twas plain, yet lack'd fulfilment many a moon. 
So, first, to Sigisbert, the Frankish king, 
By trusty couriers from the Roman camp, 
The Prince sent word : detailing clear and full 
The persecution and Ingunda's flight. 
He ask'd not help — save only that of prayer ; 
But to the father of his well-belov'd 
Confided tenderly herself and child, 
For safest keeping till the war should end. 



180 St. Hermenegild 

Then, for his bride the same good ship dispatch'd 
Had borne her faithfully to Afric's shore. 
And thus he wrote : 

" One Easter morn has past ; 
And much I fear another, and another, 
Will see us parted still. But thou, belov'd, 
My dearer life, shalt now abide once more 
Safe in thy childhood's home which thou didst 

leave 
For me. 

Leovigild has made no sign 
Of onset ; but his sullen silence tells 
How little he had reckon'd on a front 
Defiant, such as we have dared to show. 
Leander warns me that the King will try 
Vexatious tarrying, and will use beside 
Dishonorable means, which I refuse 
To credit him withal. But we, the while, 
Avail ourselves of time." 

Leander spoke 
Too truly. For a dozen months roll'd by, 
And no invasion of the Prince's realm ; 
Save that of spies and secret agents, sent 
To sow false fears, to wheedle, and to bribe. 
And saw the sequent year a bolder move, 



A Passion Flower of Spain 1 8 1 

But deftly hidden from our hero's eyes. 
The Roman captains privately receiv'd 
A courteous invitation from the King 
To spend a week within Toletum's walls : 
Departing thence the richer by a sum 
Of yellow gold, with guaranty of more. 
Small reck to them, I ween, that they had sold 
Honor and plighted faith. The King but 

ask'd 
Neutrality : and what had they to do 
With family broils and petty jars of creed ? 

But kept for the third year his master-stroke 
This Visigoth king. Magnificently royal 
The edict summoning to his capital 
The Arian prelates of all Spain. 

Convened, 
The council sat in state, encompass'd round 
With awe-compelling pomp and pageantry, 
His Majesty presiding. Ay, and long 
Had been the disputation, long and fierce, 
But for the gold that won astuter minds 
To sanction novel measures of the King's. 
And first, 'twas carried that the Arian Church 
Should own Rome's baptism a valid act, 



1 82 St, Hennemgild 

Nor re-baptize the converts from her fold. 1 
And next, that she admitted and believ'd 
Equality 'twixt the Father and the Son — 
Left ample room for sense heretical. 2 
Thus artfully contrived Leovigild 
What rightly he had guess'd would undermine 
The seeming strong position of his son. 
A hope, by Heaven's high permit, realized. 

Ill 

For now began the onset. Came the King, 
A well-appointed army at his back, 
To pay his promised visit. Marching straight 
On Hispalis, he drew the lines of siege; 
While up the Boetis sail'd a stately fleet, 
To cut off access from the sea and cause 
A gradual famine in the leaguer'd town. 
The Prince's ships were taken all, or sunk — 
Outnumber'd, overpower'd. But Hispalis 
Smiled bravely on the foe a round of months ; 

1 Vide Bollandists. In his "Essay on Development," Cardi- 
nal Newman tells us that the Arian Visigoths had an invalid form 
of baptism themselves, but re-baptized by force all the Catholics 
they could get hold of. 

2 * ' Equality ' ' not necessarily including co-eternity and consub- 
stantiality. 



A Passion Flower of Spain 183 

For strong her walls : and, strangely, not a feint 

Of storm was made. Yet, secretly, within, 

Work'd treachery — unscented by the Prince, 

And all too late detected by his friends. 

He had not seconded Leander's wish 

To stay with the besieged ; and sadly missed 

The holy bishop's prudence. 

Easter dawn'd 
Again : the fourth since sweet Ingunda's flight. 
Alas, 'twas silence now between those hearts ! 
No word might come or go. But many words 
Had framed an answering letter prompt and true 
To one had reach'd the Princess at her home. 
And this Hermenegild read o'er and o'er. 

"I live in hope," she said, "unshaken hope; 
And know that peace which is the gift of God 
To those who love Him, and, to prove their love, 
Are well content to suffer for His sake. 
Three years of parted life have only knit 
Our mutual souls more tenderly and more. 
And if another three be God's dear will, 
We shall but gain in merit and in love. 
Nor are we parted save to outer sense : 
For since in God 'we live and move and be,' 



184 St. Hermenegild 

In Him I have thee with me at all hours. 
And when, at Holy Mass, our Lord and King 
Comes to His altar, thou art nearer then ; 
For in His Heart He keeps thee, well I know : 
And nearest when that Heart is one with mine 
In blest Communion. . . . 

I have taught our child 
To lisp thy name, belov'd, and softly pray 
At morn, at eve, thy safety, thy return. 
And he, betimes, will ask for thee, and pause 
As tho' he heard an angel answer him ! " . . . 

Pored fondly on these sentences, and oft, 

The tender husband : but on those which urged 

That he should take, if worsted in the war, 

Safe refuge with her father, look'd but once. 

So, when his captains brought him sudden news 

Of widespread disaffection ev'n among 

The Catholic soldiers — weary of his cause, 

And bought with golden promises convey'd 

By sham deserters from the enemy's lines — 

He cast Ingunda's letter to the flames ; 

And straightway steel'd his heart for doom and 

death, 
Rather than base alternative of flight. 



A Passion Flower of Spain 185 

Then, counsel taken with his faithful chiefs, 

Made noiseless exit under cover of night, 

And reached the Roman camp. His thought to 

claim 
The pledg'd support, and place at its command 
Two hosts which lay inactive, north and south, 
Protecting towns and hamlets unassail'd. 
This junction formed, the siege were quickly 

raised ; 
Th' invader forced back to his own domain. 

Brave, noble heart, and true God-fearing soul, 
How keen thine anguish now ! How bitter the cup 
Press'd to thy lips ! And thou must drink it 

down — 
Ay, drain the very dregs ! 

The lust of gold 
Had play'd i' the game, and won. With cold 

salute, 
The Romans talk'd of sworn neutrality. 
But this they offer' d still : asylum sure, 
Or armed escort to the bounds of Gaul. 
He turn'd, indignant, to retrace his steps ; 
And tidings met that Hispalis had fallen — 
Her gates flung open by the glad besieged ! 



1 86 St. Hermenegild 

IV 

The Prince had still two armies in the field ; 
And cities twain, strong, Catholic, and loyal, 
Could long resistance make. So thus he plann'd. 
The King should think him fled to Corduba; 
Pursue, and find his late-exultant host 
Between two armies caught. Himself, the 

while, 
First choosing out three hundred valiant men, 
Would hold Ossetum. 

But Leovigild — 
At all times wary, never more than now — 
By spies in part, in part by traitors' aid, 
Saw thro' his son's manoeuvre, and abode 
In Andalusia's capital, unbeguiled. 
Then weeks and months of dallying, dextrous 

feints, 
And moves strategic ; till he drew apart 
Each rebel corps ; and, summoning their chiefs 
To parley, urged, 'gainst useless waste of blood, 
His generous intent toward every man 
Should lay down arms and heed his gracious 

will. 
" For well he knew that motives high and pure 



A Passion Flower of Spain 187 

Had bade them follow his misguided son. 

He blamed not them. In proof whereof, to each 

Would royal largess give of double pay 

For unrequited service to the Prince." 

Thus either host disbanded and dispersed 

Like phantom armies seen in summer clouds. 

Now, vulture-like, he swoopt upon the walls 

Of doom'd Ossetum. Sending to inform 

The obdurate Prince of his deserted cause, 

He offer'd clemency and all the grace 

A father's heart could give. But who shall blame 

Our hero, if distrustfully he heard, 

And answer'd from amid his Spartan few, 

That, sooner than abandon faith and God, 

'Twere better to die fighting in the breach 

And fall a martyr ? 

The three hundred made 
Round their Leonidas a glorious stand, 
When fell the batter'd gates. Ay, then was seen 
" A new Thermopylae." 1 Again, again, 

1 " Earth, render back from out thy breast 
A remnant of our Spartan dead ! 
Of the Three Hundred grant but three, 
To make a new Thermopylae ! ' ' 

— Byron's "Isles of Greece.** 



1 88 St. Hermenegild 

Bristled with spear and javelin surge on surge, 
Recoiling baffled, broken. Till, at last, 
A shower of arrows from the mounted wall 
Laid low the brave defenders — all but ten. 

The wounded Prince beheld a flood of light, 
And angels bringing for each fallen head 
A martyr's crown. But ah, not yet for him ! 
He heard a voice : " Prince, hie thee to the 

church! 
'Tis not the will of Heaven thou finish here 
Thy combat. Waits a brighter crown for thee." 
That light the while seem'd darkness to the foe, 
And gave the little band secure retreat. 

V 

Now, when Leovigild had full report 

Of his son's valor 'mid the hero throng 

Who fought and fell around him, he was thrill'd 

With pride paternal ; and at once enjoin'd 

Respect for the asylum's sacred walls. 

And that mysterious darkness aw'd his soul. 

Then, sending flag of truce at eventide, 

With food and drink, and bandages for wounds, 

He queried was the Prince's hurt severe ? 



A Passion Flower of Spain 1 89 

And would he on the morrow deign receive 
His brother Reccared ? 

The Prince was touch'd 
By this strange show of kindliness, and made 
A like response. Not grave his wound, nor 

those 
Of his nine comrades. Gratefully they took 
The timely alms. Ay, let his brother come. 
" I have not seen him since the blessed day 
I wed Ingunda," mused Hermenegild. 
" So be is in the field against me ! He 
Takes sides with Arian hate ! But nay. I ween 
The King has brought him but to plead with me. 
Ay, let him come. We will embrace and speak 
Of our lost mother and her precious faith." 
Thus ran, 'twixt intervals of feverish sleep, 
His thoughts. And much he pray'd the coming 

day 
Might see him win his brother to the truth. 

A happy meeting. If the younger Prince, 
Invested with the pomp of embassy, 
Forbore to rush into his brother's arms, 
But calmly gave his message from the King — 
Of amnesty and pardon for the brave ; 



190 St. Hermenegild 

Yet, once delivered of the weighty task, 

He threw his arms around his brother's neck ; 

And both withdrew to where they were alone 

For tender talk and interchange of love : 

Tho' speech came slowly — choked at first with 

tears. 
And then Hermenegild pleaded well and long 
How just his cause ; with what extreme of pain 
The conflict had been forced upon his heart — 
A heart which ever had excused the King, 
Believing him tongue-lash'd and play'd upon 
By one whom both could value at her worth. 

" Ah, could our noble mother but have liv'd ! 
Thou hast not yet forgotten her, I trow ? " 
"Nor ever shall," quoth Reccared. u To me 
Her memory has been a guiding star." 
" Then what of the faith which made her very 

life ? 
Hast thou no wish to share it — and with me ? 
Of all things precious Truth Divine is first." 
" Yes, dearest brother : and the hope is mine 
That we shall all erelong — the King himself, 
And this fair Spain of ours from North to South — 
Hold but one creed, in one pure worship join. 



A Passion Flower of Spain i 9 1 

For did not the late Council shape decrees 
With view to union ? Surely, thou hast heard ? " 

" Ay, heard and understood. Be not deceiv'd, 
Sweet brother. Truth admits no compromise. 
That term of c equal,' in the Arian sense, 
Leaves Co-Eterne and Consubstantial out. 
Were but our uncle, good Leander, here, 
To show thee all the truth, as once to me 
He show'd it ! But enough that thou dost wish 
To know it, as I doubt not. Search and pray. 
And since in our dead mother thou hast found 
A guiding star, and oft invokest her, 
Think how much more a mother She must be 
Whose Son is God, yet we Her children too. 
Come, pray with me before Her image here, 
That She may be indeed the morning star 
Of perfect day for thee." 

They knelt : and when 
With radiant face Hermenegild arose, 
He blithely said : " The King would have me 

come 
And sue for pardon and the kiss of peace ? 
'Tis well. I own whatever fault be mine 
Of rashness, haste, or anger. Let us go." 



92 St. Hermenegild 



VI 



The King had conquer'd ; and could well afford 

To show himself magnanimously royal. 

His better nature triumph'd for the nonce. 

So, when his son bent humbly at his feet 

In painful silence, finding naught to say, 

Leovigild uprais'd him, kiss'd his cheek, 

And motion'd to a throne upon his right. 

" Sit there, my son — still Andalusia's Prince. 

A lesson thou hast learnt has cost thee dear : 

But not in vain, if duly stored in mind. 

And now we know thy prowess, we avow 

'Tis worthy of thy line. If thou didst fail, 

'Twas not for lack of military skill, 

Nor yet from want of numbers or of arms : 

But we, to save a fratricidal strife, 

Used means 'gainst which thy subjects were not 

proof. 
Dishonorable means they else had been, 
But for averting grievous waste of blood. 

"Come with us now, my son, to Hispalis. 
Let thine own capital receive thee back 
With joy and promise of enduring peace. 
We will disband the army, save a guard 



A Passion Flower of Spain 193 

Befitting our estate, and one to march 

With thy young brother to his Northern home." 

All this was smooth as some deep river's flow. 
No word of faith, no hint of change, no sign 
Of former wrath at pertinacious creed. 
" If smooth the surface, dark the depths, I ween," 
Sigh'd poor Hermenegild. " The King's design 
I guess not ; but await the will of God." 
Nor bode he long expectant. Came an hour 
Of pompous entry with the victor King 
Between the wide-flung gates of Hispalis : 
And seem'd he then not vanquish'd, not de- 

spoil'd ; 
But rescued by a father's stronger arm 
From wild fanatical folly, and restored 
To his forgiving subjects, sane and crown'd. 
But passed the day ; and came another hour, 
When solemn re-instatement was to make 
The Prince once more vice-regent of the King. 
The herald-summon' d city gazed and heard. 

« Be 't known to all," said then Leovigild, 
" That what our son proclaim'd of liberty 
For creed and worship we ourself confirm. 



194 St. Hennenegild 

Not changed the State religion, she extends 
The hand of friendship to the rival Church, 
Inviting explanations with a view 
To restful union. Prince Hermenegild, 
As our vice-regent, needs must hold and show 
True fealty to the Church of King and State : 
But will, with warmest advocacy, strive, 
And zeal that cannot fail, to bring about 
The wish'd conciliation." 

Thus, at last, 
Transparent shone the river's depths beneath 
The smooth and treacherous surface. Wisely 

plann'd 
Thy scheme, O crafty one, hadst had a son 
Of other mould — of faithless mother born : 
A son to whom the sacredness of truth 
Had been as nothing ; who had valued more 
An earthly kingdom than a crown in Heaven. 
Not such a son Hermenegild to thee, 
Not such a prince for subjects to his charge 
Entrusted. 

See, he rises — pale, but calm: 
No panic at heart ; no quaver in the voice 
Which answers the King's challenge, clear and 

strong. 



A Passion Flower of Spain 195 

" I stand this day before you, O my friends, 
Restor'd, his gracious Majesty hath said, 
To his, my father's, favor, and to yours. 
I own, most humbly, to impetuous moods — 
To rashness, if you will — to much that youth 
Must plead excuse for. But have never been 
A conscious traitor to my country's weal ; 
Nor yet to Truth Divine, as known to me. 
To see our Spain united in one faith, 
One worship, is a boon I daily ask 
From Him whose power alone can compass it. 
But vainly will the State Church reach a hand, 
Or make concessions, to a rival creed ; 
While holding back submission to the Chair 
Of Peter, and acceptance unreserv'd 
Of Catholic Apostolic Roman faith. 

"And since that faith, once known and once 

receiv'd, 
Can never be abandon' d without sin 
Which damns the soul and rarely fails to drag 
The traitor down to everlasting Hell 
(For rarely doth repentance follow it) ; 
And since, as well ye know, that faith is mine : — 
I therefore turn me to the King, my sire, 



196 St. Hermenegild 

In presence of you all, and beg resign 

My share of throne and sceptre ; beg to go 

An exile from my native land and dwell 

With wife and child where I may pray in peace — 

A right denied me here." 

But on the King 
An evil spirit fell, as erst on Saul 
When God had left him. 

" Be it so ! " he cried. 
" Resign thou shalt. Arrest him, men at arms ! 
Tear off his royal robes, and let him stand 
A common clown — no longer son of ours 
Before the multitude that hail'd him Prince ! 
And guard him well. To-morrow we pronounce 
His sentence. Go, good people, to your homes. " 

He waited not the morrow. That day's night 
In Hispalis' strong tower a captive lay 
The princely victim of a father's wrath. 

VII 

Such heresy's accursed hate of truth. 

'Twas ever so, since Cain his brother slew — 

Cain the first heretic. But not as yet 



A Passion Flower of Spain 197 

Had this despotic father in his heart 
The thought of murder. Winter setting in, 
He fondly deem'd a spell of fetter'd limbs, 
And cold stone walls, and bed of hardest floor, 
With beggar's fare, and ghastly solitude, 
Best argument for one in palace rear'd 
And son of proud Leovigild. 

" A month," 
Quoth he to favor'd courtier, " ay, a month 
Will bring him to his senses and his knees. 
But we will hold the reins in Hispalis 
The winter thro', if need be. We have sent 
To have the Queen rejoin us." 

But the Prince, 
A true confessor, gloried in his bonds, 
And pray'd that only death might set him free. 
Tho' daily his sweet wife and blooming boy 
Came vividly before him, he had learnt 
So well to love in God the gifts of God, 
That thought of ne'er beholding them again 
On earth was lost in certain hope of Heaven, 
Where meetings come, but partings never- 
more. 
Leander's promise — might it not receive 
Its long-delay'd fulfilment after death ? 



198 5/. Hermenegild 

Came no Leander now ; but Arian priest, 

Or prelate, to essay their subtlest art ; 

Returning baffled to the baffled King. 

One month, another; then a fourth, a fifth; 

Till his sire marvell'd that he still liv'd on, 

Ev'n more than at his obstinate contempt — 

For such faith's constancy in alien eyes. 

'Twas little guess'd that good Leander's prayer, 

And pure Ingunda's, blended with his own 

To form the triple cord unbreakable 

Which bound both soul and body with its strength. 

But now Gosvinda and the Arian Church, 
Who long had counsell'd death, as treason's due, 
So wrought upon Leovigild's hurt pride, 
That, silencing the father's heart in him, 
With sudden swerve he yielded to their will. 

'Twas Passion-tide: and well Hermenegild 
Kept consort with his agonizing Lord, 
As, scene by scene, the wondrous story brought 
Fresh comfort to his soul. For he had conn'd 
That story o'er and o'er, nor other page 
Than memory's needed now. 

And much he dwelt 



A Passion Flower of Spain 199 

On Jesus crown'd, as a mock king, with thorns — 
Tho' King of kings : derided as a fool, 
Tho' Infinite Wisdom : a deceiver calPd, 
Tho' Truth itself: and unto that dear Lord 
OfFer'd in turn his own discrowning — all 
That he had borne for "witness to the truth." 
And this with deepest thankfulness and joy 
That Christ had doled him such a share of woe. 



Now Holy Week began its stately march. 
He follow'd day by day, and step for step. 
Spy- Wednesday came, the traitor Judas' day. 
Ah, how he blest God's grace and mercy then, 
Had kept him from betraying Christ anew ! 
And lo, the final test, the last assault, 
Was drawing onward with the morrow's night. 

In those far times, the Church kept Holy Week 

As erst among the catacombs of Rome : 

Her Arian rival aping her in this. 

The awful night which saw our dearest Lord 

Bequeath His Body and Blood, His very Self, 

As Eucharistic Sacrifice and Food, 

Was not forestall'd, but spent in order due. 



200 St. Hermenegild 

Hermenegild had wakefully arrived 
The midnight hour in contemplation sweet, 
When suddenly made entrance to his cell 
An Arian bishop, with attendant lights, 
Bearing a silver vessel, which he held 
Before his breast : and thus began his say. 

cc My Prince, thy father, our most gracious 

King, 
Distressfully entreats thee put an end 
To this unnatural and bootless strife, 
Which harrows up his own heart, even as thine. 
He has receiv'd to-night our common Christ ; 
And bids his servant, my unworthiness, 
Deliver the same Bread of Life to thee. 
Receive it, and be free." 

" Ay, free forsooth 
With fallen Peter ! Give the traitor's kiss, 
And end despairing ! Prithee tell the King 
To dream no more of any change in me." 

" Then dread, young man, the vengeance long 

delay'd 
Which waits upon high treason." 



A Passion Flower of Spain 201 

But the Prince 
Slept soundly when Hell's minister had gone. 
And woke to spend the Crucifixion day 
In tenderest union with his Saviour-Lord. 

VIII 

" Now there was darkness over all the land 
From sixth hour unto ninth." Amid these 

hours, 
It seem'd to Prince Hermenegild he knelt 
On Calvary's very top, and close to the Cross. 

Faith changed to vision : for he saw and heard : 
And lo, at heart of the darkness there was light ! 
Our Dolorous Lady " turn'd her pitying eyes," 
And placed a beauteous hand upon his head : 
Then to Her Son Divine, whose Cross-stretch'd 

form 
Hung " white and ruddy," she presented him 
As chosen for the Choir of Martyrdom : 
And He, the King of Martyrs, She, the Queen, 
Accepted there the generous sacrifice. 

But past the Friday peacefully withal ; 
Nor ruffian blow, nor fell, intruding voice. 



202 St. Hermenegild 

So that our hero moan'd that he survived 
His Master's death-day : yet, with perfect trust, 
Look'd wistfully for Easter's nearing morn 
As promised hour of triumph — nor in vain. 

The. calm of Holy Saturday — its sense 
Of rest with Jesus in His Sabbath-tomb — 
Seem'd linger most unwontedly. With night, 
The Church began her long and solemn rites 
That led up to the Mass of Easter's dawn. 

Behold where sweet Ingunda makes her prayer — 
Beside her sleeping boy ! The midnight hour 
Has struck ; and she must robe herself and go 
Into the great cathedral for the Mass. 
Her thoughts have been with Mary, Mother of 

God, 
In that entranced vigil which awoke 
To sight of Jesus risen and glorified. 
And is not she expectant ? She has learnt, 
Thro' kind Leander, how her valiant Prince 
Had vanquish'd been by gold and treachery : 
And how the King had reinstated him 
With test severest of a constant faith. 
Then came the father's wrath, the son's arrest; 



A Passion Flower of Spain 203 

And how, in Hispalis' strong castle bound, 
The prisoner so had balk'd the royal scheme, 
That seem'd it likeliest the wearied King 
Would send him forth, a banish' d man — but 

free 
To fly to her, if never to return. 
'Twas this she pray'd for, till the latest word, 
Which came with Passion-tide. 

Leander wrote : — 
"A change, my daughter — sudden, dark, and 

fell — 
Has clouded o'er the counsels of the King. 
Prepare thee — for it seems the will of God — 
To have thy husband win the martyr's palm ! 
I well believe that Easter morn I saw, 
When thou shouldst hail him victor from the 

fight, 
Is now arriving. It has tarried long. 
Fear nothing. God will hold thee with a 

grace — 
A strength that faileth not." 

And from that hour 
A wondrous grace encompass'd and sustain'd 
This gentle soul to meet the will of God 
Not only with submission, but with joy. 



204 St. Hermenegild 

And now, as she arises from her prayer 
To robe and pass to Mass, she does not see 
Her heart's beloved kneeling in his cell ; 
Nor the hard soldier, who, intruding, cries 
" I execute the sentence of the King ! " — 
And lifts an axe, and cleaves him thro' the 
brain. 

She sees not this : but lo, her room is fill'd 
With sudden light from other world than ours ! 
And in that light she sees our Lady sweet 
Smiling upon her, and, with gracious hand, 
Giving her back her lost Hermenegild 
(Now lost no longer, but her own forever), 
A martyr crown'd: " crown'd victor from the 

fight-— 

For Christ's dear Godhead and His Spouse the 
Church. 

O bliss unutterable ! Where the heart 
Of mortal wife could hold it all and live ? 
Ingunda's broke — burst with its ecstasy ; 
And her pure soul, in Mary's bosom borne, 
To Jesus' feet was carried where He sits 
At God's right hand, Saviour and Judge of all. 



A Passion Flower of Spain 205 

And He receiv'd it from His Mother's love, 
And welcom'd it to Heav'n, and gave it right 
To wear with its dear spouse the martyr's crown. 

IX 

To Sigisbert first, the father kind and true, 
Whose Easter joy his daughter's sudden death 
Had marr'd exceedingly, the Blessed Pair 
Reveal'd themselves in light, 

" We leave to thee 
Our orphan boy, Theodoric, gift of God," 
Ingunda said. " Thou who hast ever been 
A father true to me, be now as true 
A father to him. Watch o'er his youthful days, 
And we will watch o'er thee. Take special heed 
To train him in the faith. We know not yet 
What God may have in store for him ; but this 
We promise — that our prayer shall go with 

thine 
For him, nor less for thee and all thou lov'st, 
So thou be faithful to this trust." 

" Amen ! " 
Made answer Sigisbert, now full of joy : 
And well he kept his promise. 



206 St. Hermenegild 

Next they came 
To where Leovigild, in gloom and dread, 
Paced silent, lamp-lit halls in Hispalis. 
'Twas night, but sleep forsook the guilty King. 
Astonish' d, terrified, he struck his breast 
And sank upon his knees, when issued forth 
From dim-lit solitude the beauteous forms. 
Then spoke Hermenegild : 

" Bethink thee not 
We come as ministers of wrath divine, 
O blinded instrument of highest good ! 
We rather come to thank thee for our crown 
Of martyrdom, and offer thee from God 
A final grace of penance and of faith. 

" The Lord Christ bids thee know His Catholic 

Church 
Is Roman — the One Shepherd's only fold. 
That He, the Word, is very God of God 
Begotten ; Consubstantial, Co-Eterne 
With the Almighty Father; and made Flesh 
Of Mother Ever-Virgin. That the sect 
To which thou cleavest blasphemously dares 
Dissolve the Triune Godhead ; and has reft 
Its duped adherents of the New Birth's grace, 



A Passion Flower cf Spain 207 

By vitiated form. Alas, poor King, 

No faith is thine, no priest, no sacrament ! 

But thou art still my father, and I love 

Thy soul more dearly now than when my own 

Was clad in mortal garb. Do penance, then, 

My father. Send for good Leander : learn 

What he shall teach ; and be baptized ; and 

bring 
Dear Reccared, and all our kith and kin, 
And all the Visigoth portion of our Spain, 
Back to the One True Fold. Thy penance this. 

" Thou needest fear no more Gosvinda's taunts. 
In yonder chamber lies her lifeless face, 
Her spirit down in Hell. God's justice struck- — 
After long tarrying. Nor hast aught to dread 
From Arian malice, so thou use the power 
Which God shall give thee. We will ever pray, 
And watch until we welcome thee above." 

Here vanish'd from his eyes the Blessed Pair ; 
And all seem'd darkness round him as he groped 
His way to the royal chamber, there to find 
Gosvinda black in death, as tho' a fiend 
Had strangled her. 



208 St. Hermenegild 

With morning he dispatch'd 
A courier in hot haste to Corduba ; 
And one to Reccared's capital j resolv'd 
To do at least a part — the greater part — 
Of his dead son's injunction. For himself, 
Tho' now no more a heretic in will, 
But owning the full truth, and scornfully 
Repelling priest or prelate of the sect, 
He fail'd to pray and humble his proud heart, 
And trust the promised mercy. 

When arrived 
Leander, full of peace and holy joy — 
He, too, had seen the Blessed Pair, and heard 
From them God's gracious offer to the King — 
Leovigild receiv'd him wearily, 
As part of a cause had triumph'd by defeat ; 
And treated him with deferential awe ; 
But gave no sign of hopeful penitence. 
The saint saw thro' the King's unhappy mind, 
And strove to rouse his hope, and make him own 
His case a visible instance of God's ways 
Of overruling evil unto good. 

" Give God the glory, Sire. Confess how vain, 
How foolish, 'tis, in sooth, to plot and plan 



A Passion Flower of Spain 209 

Against His wisdom, or to lift a hand 
To overthrow His purpose. Thou, my liege, 
Didst act, like Saul of Tarsus, blindly then. 
But now a blessed grace has brought thee light, 
And made truth clear as day. Thou needst 

not ask 
' Lord, what wilt have me do ? ' for I am here 
To tell thee. But repent with contrite heart, 
And be baptized, and wash thy sins away. 
Then Faith divine, with Hope and Charity, 
Will make thee a new man — a son of God." 

"Thy words are good, lord bishop. Let it 

keep — 
This question — for the present. We have sent 
For Reccared, our sole successor now, 
To place him in thy charge. Do thou instruct, 
Baptize, and seal him in the Catholic faith. 
Our trust that his will one day be the power, 
Denied to us, of bringing back our land 
To Roman unity. So grant it God ! " 

Thus Reccared " the Catholic " took the throne ; 
Whose reign of triumph forms a glorious page 
In Spain's long annals. But his hapless sire 



2io St. Hermenegild 

\ 

Liv'd not to share his victory. Dragg'd him 

down 
A broken (ah, but not a contrite !) heart. 
Unchristen'd, unabsolv'd — tho' not unmourn'd, 
Nor yet unpray'd for — soon he sank and died, 
And went to Judgment in his proud despair. 

But thou, my hero, Saint Hermenegild, 
Whose precious death restor'd thy country's 

faith, 
Pray for the minstrel who has thus presumed 
To sing thy story ! Help him to be brave 
And love the Cross, O Passion Flower of Spain ! 

St. Paul's Monastery, 

Pittsburgh, Pa. 

Octave of the Solemn Commemoration of the Passion, 

1896. 



Electrotyped by J. S. Gushing & Co., Norwood, Mass. 
Printed by Benziger Brothers, New York. 



